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Crad Kilodney wrote me that he’s having very bad luck selling World Under Anaesthesia on the streets of Toronto. Crad wrote, about his street bookselling adventures and about mankind in general:“It’s the grand parade of witless human meat.”

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“I need someone soon,” Josh said as we drove home. “I can’t live without a woman.” “Sure you can,” I said. “No, I can’t,” Josh said. “I know,” I told him. “I was just trying to see if I could fool you.”

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Oddly enough, we passed the purple-haired Torridzone Igloo and his inseparable friend Scarlatina Lust on Macdougal Street just a few minutes after I’d showed Tom a copy of their magazine Smegma. I told them we were going to see Crad Kilodney.

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The girl at the Brook Theater charged me student prices; I gave her $3 for one ticket and she handed me back change after glancing at me. it’s been years since I’ve gotten in as under 18. This, following the University of Pennsylvania reception when I got mistaken for a high school senior, makes me wonder about my identity.

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I agreed that we are not very compatible. Yet by now each of us is so much a part of the other’s life that neither wants to give up our friendship. We got out of bed, Ronna in her pink bathrobe, and talked as friends till 4 AM.