The other day, at about two in the afternoon, E.S. and I walked by a liquor store in our neighborhood and saw a woman helping a man out the door who was obviously three sheets to the wind. Then we had the following conversation:
E.S.: Would you stay with me if I became a falling-down drunk?
FAUSTUS: No.
E.S.: What if I had a lot of money?
FAUSTUS: I would stay with you long enough to make sure you left everything to me in your will, and then I would push you in front of a subway. Everybody would think you had just fallen because you were drunk.
E.S.: I can’t argue with that logic.
A few years ago I was crossing Greenwich at 8th Avenue where it forms that little triangle at the bottom of Chelsea, and there was a seriously drunk homeless man who toppled off the curb and fell into the street. He looked kind of scary, so I kept going. That image haunts me to this day. Everytime the parable of the Good Samaritan comes up, I shudder in recognition.
You wouldn’t happen to have anything against wire hangers, would you?
And then you and E.S. had sex.
Right there in front of the liquor store.
I think Jeff nailed it.
Someone read “Zen and the Philosophy of Anna Nicole,” didn’t he?
Ahhh, young love.
That’s brilliant. It’s something I would say.
Hey, I guess that makes me brilliant too! Wheee!
Hmmmmmm. I can’t help noticing that this whole “Throw E.S. in front of the train” thing is turning into a recurring leitmotiv in this blog. If I were he, I would mind the gap in a really, really serious way. Especially if you start commenting to his friends about “this bizarre Anna Karenina obsession he has been exhibiting lately… .”