Irving Tobin reads every word of the
Times every day. Every word, every day, since 1975. Well, almost every word. He started skipping Sports, Escapes and Circuits when he fell two years behind in 1998. Now, he's only one year, five months, and four days behind, which places him in late June 2002.
Link to the New Yorker on the web.
I'm convinced that in Manhattan, mental illness lurks behind every corner. Those charming brownstones actually house compost piles of ancient newspapers and cat shit, plus other stuff that would make Slave's kitchen look like a Bil Keane cartoon.
Oddly, my FIL has the same quirk. Lucky for him, his shitty little local paper takes 12 minutes to read cover to cover.
Edited to add: Oops, he lives in Elizabeth, NJ. Mebbe NJ weirdos supply the newspapers and Manhattan brings up the cat shit average.
