They're annoyed, smug and in charge.
The G train... what a joke.
Very seriously judging your 3 a.m. purchases.
Who's tougher than a Bronx bodega cat?
I hope you aren't putting this on Instagram.
These papes ain't gonna sell themselves!
No, I don't haggle.
Just recovering from another wild Friday night in Coney.
You call this a storm?!
That is, in fact, my beer.
Sick of your hipster nonsense.
New York real estate, amirite?
Get. Off. My. Stoop.
Missing the old, gritty New York.
Be home by dinner. Or else.