My cell is standard size; ten by ten. It has a sink, toilet
and bed. The walls are white, of course. They let me have
pencil and paper so I can write…it’s the only thing that has
kept me from going crazy. I’m in my cell twenty three hours
a day…not allowed visitors. One a month I see the prison
shrink…he always seems bored.
It took a while to understand that I was really here and not
going anywhere else for some time….my choices had become
extremely limited…but, at least, not on paper. How I came to
be here would be a good story to tell, but it’s the last thing
that interests me now….it’s the last thing I want I want to remember…
I like to write about New York. I like to imagine
I’m living there…
****
Dusty took me to a post-Premiere party for an Indy film that
was shot in New York….it was about a Downs syndrome
man, who was the star of the movie. He was at the party with
his parents, and pretty dolled up for the occasion. He was
drinking, and a young woman was flirting with him heavily.
After an hour, his parents wanted to leave and he
got into a big fight with them….it was quite exciting for a
couple of minutes until security calmed the whole thing
down. Later that evening, a man in a Mini-Mart hailed me.
He was drunk, but fairly well dressed. After he realized he
didn’t know me, we started to chat, and then went to a bar together….
had some laughs…he said he worked for the
government, but he wouldn’t kill me….I thanked him….
The next day, I went to lunch with Will, and his aunt, who
was a famous Broadway actress for many years, but her
health was in decline. I asked her: “What do you think of
Tom Cruise as an actor?”
She replied: “I don’t think of him as an actor.”
****
Joel was pressing me, as usual for more copy. “What do you think
I am, a machine?” I was usual drunk. “Hey, hey, I know
Joel…we’ll open a hamburger/magic lamp franchise and we
can call it ‘MacDjinn’….whaddya say?”
“I’d say our meeting has ceased to be productive.”
“Ahhh….c’mon, man, relax…life is short…”
“Yes, but it’s too long to completely waste it…”
“ I don’t agree…I’m almost there…”
“Yes, but you might fail because you might succeed…”
“Now you’re just screwing with me…you’d like me
to succeed so that I’d fail, wouldn’t you…?”
…the glass nearly slipped from my fingers….
“You really should listen to yourself sometime…”
“Oooo Oooo…yer so smart! I’d just be hearing
something I already knew! ‘Cause I said it!”
…even I was beginning to wonder how long this
conversation could continue….but I liked the
double spacing…..
I wrenched myself (about an 18 inch Ridgid)
out of the conversation and into the kitchen…
I knew that Joel was just waiting with that next
sentence that was going to come out of his mouth.
I took my time making my drink…considering what
I would say when I re-entered the room. I went in.
“Well?” I said.
Joel looked at me. “Well what?” he said, as if nothing
had happened.
****
I went back to my cell….uh…apartment after I finished
his bottle of Ozeki and three éclairs. I excoriated him for
two hours, but, at the end there I tried to make nice…
pretend I wasn’t an asshole….Joel knew this game.
I unlocked the door and went inside. There was a note
that had been slid under the door. No, it wasn’t from
Natricia…it was from the Chinese laundry downstairs…
it seems there were certain stains that couldn’t be
removed. They said they’d burn the clothes for me
as usual.
Just then, I heard a “shhhhhht” as another note was
appearing from under my door. This time it was from
Natricia. I opened it…there was one simple question:
“What’s your favorite color?” and nothing more. I was
“What’s your favorite color?” and nothing more. I was
thinking about it, when, only perhaps five minutes later
there was a colossal explosion outside my building.
When I looked outside my window, there was a column
of flame….perhaps a mile away.
I didn’t think much of the tower of flame…these things
happen…what was really bothering me was that question:
“What’s your favorite color?”