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I went to the Village and sat around in Washington Square. Next to me was this good-looking hippie 16-year-old kid. A dirty old man tried to proposition us both. He asked me if the kid was my lover (an interesting idea). Anyway, we lied our heads off to him.
I get closer and feathers float in the air like we’re all trapped inside a giant snow globe. I light another cigarette, and some girl harps to me that “This is a non-smoking park.” I loosen my tie and look over at this lunatic. “That’s fine,” I say, “Because the park isn’t smoking, I am.” I think everybody here is on drugs.