What Else Is There To Do In

I Totally Relate To Tom Cruise. He's Not Crazy, It's Just The Litany Of The Mid-life Crisis.

At Columbus Circle, A Juggler Wearing A Trench Cloak And Top Hat, Who Is Usually At This Location Afternoons And Who Calls Himself Stretch Man, Performs In Front Of A Small, Uninterested Crowd; Though I Smell Prey, And He Seems Worthy Of My Wrath, I Move On In Search Of A Less Dorky Target. Though If He'd Been A Mime, Odds Are He'd Already Be Dead.

But I Don't Want To Wear A Condom Because I Don't Feel Anything," And She Says Calmly... Glaring At Me,"if You Don't Use One You're Not Going To Feel Anything Anyway.

The Numbing Lists Of Things You Were Supposed To Have As An American To Make You Happy, Which Ultimately, Of Course, Don't. Those Aren't The Things That Make You Happy.

Disappear Here. The Syringe Fills With Blood. You're A Beautiful Boy And That's All That Matters. Wonder If He's For Sale. People Are Afraid To Merge. To Merge.