According to the Sun, Grand Central has been hit with a crippling tragedy. A mouse or rat has passed away, but its last moments were not private. Instead, the rodent died within or around the interior walls of the station's main information booth — that is, right smack in the middle of everything, where it has since peacefully rested, every day decomposing like a little flower. And though the smell of the rotting rodent corpse is concentrated right behind the booth, the odor is bad enough to warrant an emergency-services style search for the carcass.
A customer service representative who took over from Mr. Slaughter in a rotation and gave only his first name, John, said the animal had perhaps already been found. Another MTA employee, who declined to give his name, said while walking from the area, "We can smell him. We can't find him."
So, just to recap: a dead rat, something ever-so-foreign to New York City, is making Grand Central smell like shit on a stick, and it cannot be found. Meanwhile, Osama gleefully skips about the hills of Waziristan.