Explanation

When I'm in the LA Area, I frequently try to get to my favorite store, Back Lot Movie Memorabilia. Right next door is a wig shop with an on site wig stylist. I bought a country style wig there and had it purposely teased on site, then tipped the wig attendant, because NYC is such a tipping economy, new york socialism, that it's hard to restrain myself from ever tipping with my last dime.
I got to go with a A New York woman to the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park the other day, and she introduced me to the B Line. The A Line had about 48 people in it, the B Line, where you can order a drink, an ice tea, or ice cream for your pooch, had only one person in it. I got an ice tea, she got a poochini. She let me try the non dog food top, the dog got the rest. It was like being in a New Yorker cartoon for about 45 minutes, but actually when I asked her for her email and/or phone, which I do with practically everybody, she was startled. "I don't usually give my email to people like you," she accidentally said. What a minor social gaffe. Neither of us could make a full recovery from that one. Then she had to go because her dog was too ashamed to relieve himself with my and my friend Fu around. We made the dog too excited and self consious. Yet still I had the evening, and we walked all the way down third avenue to the Bowery Poetry Club, where we discontinued to be socially anamolous. If anything, I was one of the least exciting and stimulating people there. Its odd how ones fortune or charisma can turn on a dime. My charm didn't return until possibly Tuesday, days later.
One needn't always be compelling, however, far from it. Fu is moving to Berlin soon, and we had a few hours of our platonic palling around. "You two put out a really strong weirdo vibe when you're together!" our friend Aric once commented. Poor old Fu had to unload years worth of half hearted collecting and hoarding, dating from around the time nobody wanted albums anymore and couldn't even see a time in the future where anybody ever would, and they were all over the street, the used book stores, everybody's apartment, for a quarter, a dollar, for free if you took them away. He realized that his "Rappin' Rodney" album has no value, but maintains illusions about Red Foxxes filthy live set. I got about 10 Sandy Nelson albums, one of them was so mediocre that I donated it to the tranny who sells things in front of Love Saves the Day on 2nd Avenue and 7th Street.
That Tranny, who has a southern bum for a lackey, is still ahead of me in the stuff game because I've given her about two albums, a cd, and a literary journal I thought it would be good for her to have on her table, but I have gotten, most recently, 3 small French plates and a set of elbow covering non-gloves, black stretchy material that is glossy and dotted with rhinestones. The day I got those I put one on right away and Helen, a cabaret star, pointed out that it exactly matched my hair flower. She was right. Black with rhinestones. So in sync. I like everyone's style.