Hypothetical question
IF YOU WERE A WEB SITE,which one would you be? What if you were a dictator, a criminal, a war, a body odor: halitosis or a fart?
I’m sick of coming up with these questions for Bernstein. How did I end up with this? Oh yeah, he let me out of the final exam last year during my little bout of suicidal depression. This is both reparation and therapy.
Bernstein has a good heart. He favors the underdogs; probably was one himself.
Senior year. Got to keep up the grades and get into a good school, then everything will be peachy. Strive. Strive. Make a life with some swell guy, a Soho loft, a Victorian in San Fran, where it’s normal to be ten steps left of center.
Too much caffeine today. That’s why I can’t sleep. My brain’s on overload, missiles flying, sparks igniting, particles shifting, synapses synapsing.
Vern and I have been such café junkies lately. We’ve analyzed it as escape from the moms and their tragic expressions—Our babies are leaving home!
When I can’t sleep, like this, I design buildings in my head: a tree house loft, a mountain dwelling, an underwater oasis, an abode hung from skyhooks that seems to float in space. The benefits of such a nest are obvious. You are above it all. Head in the clouds, a reality.
The furniture would have to be as light as bird skeletons. The beds, feather. The plumbing, guided by gravity. If someone you didn’t like walked underneath your house, someone who’d tormented you, like the entire football team, you could just flush the toilet and let the sewage drop on their heads.