Listen, people, I’m just a cart and I go where they push me. I carry what they put into me.
I’m not a terrorist. Yet, here I am standing next to this SUV with a full tank with this crude bomb. Inside my basket is plastic sheeting. Dry plywood. And the key element: a gas can. It’s just a standard plastic gas can in orange. There’s not going to be any way to trace it.
Me? They will trace me back to Pathmark. But, I had nothin’ to with this plot. I swear to you.
When a t-shirt vendor noticed that smoking Nissan Pathfinder with its rudimentary bomb in Times Square, he called the police. When someone throws an unfinished cigarette onto me and that plastic starts smoking, here on Knapp Street and Avenue Y, there’s no one to stop me from melting!
Note: In all seriousness, this cart may be overly scared. But he does make us wonder why people leave gas cans out on the street like this.