Only the dead steers work Brooklyn

My comrade in cantankerousness describes what has been flowing out of a certain over-leveraged office tower on Eighth Avenue as “a torrent of sludge.” Which might be an understatement (can you spell Mamma Leone?) But he didn’t even mention the most astonishing clot of coal ash, the porterhouse rules. Has a writer ever more visibly struggled to crank out enough words to justify a multimedia piece? The poor fucker was reduced to describing London broil as “local and distinctive.” Stick that up against your mushy peas and slice it.