an affair ... RSVP

i’m writing this slightly drugged and fully conflicted. a state like this isn’t good for much except maybe the purge that follows. i am nothing if not a purger of the highest order.

for the moment, i’m parked in front of my computer. it’s a shade before midnight at the five star hotel of the neighborhood. i’ve just come from a cocktail party full of people who wouldn’t understand Martin Goodman’s work or what i love so much about an ordinary grilled cheese. this flag waving for experimental eating—i still declined every offer of an appetizer, mainly because i had no idea of what any of it was. i guess some allergies are more permanent than others.

a few days ago you asked if i thought that maybe our lives were part of a bigger movie and that maybe the actors should unmask and let us in on the gig. well, i’ll tell you something—i think every goddamn b-movie star that ever aspired attended this evening’s festivities.

this place is the most fully functioning ghost town i’ve ever seen if you want to know the truth. you open up your mouth for one goddamn yawn and every horseback rider, brilliant scientist, and influential writer you’ve never read jumps right down your throat. how is a guy supposed to catch his breath around here?

back to this party—i wish i was making this stuff up, but i’m not. my fashionably attired host explained that the neighborhood used to be the stomping grounds for whores and punks, but now a condo like his cost two zillion of rupees. the more time i spent at the party, the more i came to this stunning realization—the whores must have gotten keys to the building. the place was full of ‘em.

after an hour or so, i started to feel like a whore, too. i excused myself with a handshake before there was any actual exchange of cash. then again, to be honest, i don’t remember an offer being made.

as is the custom, i walked for a bit, hoping to get lost. maybe get mugged. but it was not to be. so instead i called the first 32 people in my address book not named you hoping that at the very least, somebody might be able to pull off a convincing (but unknowing) imitation of you. i’ve never heard so many outgoing messages.

now, if you’ll excuse me, my stash of funny business is kicking in and i need to dig my sweet dreams hat out of my suitcase before i fall asleep with a naked scalp. i’m liable to catch a cold in this town.

i already feel sick.

thE lasT punK in the 'hooD