I tried to hear what Superfly was saying, but all I could pick up were non sequiturs. His words flowed like bubbling champagne: “See, that’s what I’m saying, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m not into the specifics. I don’t want to know the specifics. I just want to see the stack. Because there might be, might be some kind of, you see what I’m saying here, situation, in which, on occasion, I just might not be around. Could be anywhere. Connecticut, New Orleans. I don’t know. I don’t want to commit myself like that. But under that specific occasion, see what I’m saying, the business has to be able to run itself. You get too close, see what I’m saying, you get too hands-on, well, then that’s what gets a man killed. If everything is organized right, you never gonna have that problem, you hear what I’m talking about?” He must have said “You know what I’m talking about” or “That’s what I’m saying” at least fifty times. And I’m not sure that anybody did. I don’t even know who he was talking to.

Suddenly I was back home crawling into the cool sheets of my bed. I closed my eyes and then what seemed like two minutes later blasted out of bed and raced off to work. I had a surprisingly huge amount of energy all day. Jonathan was sucking up to someone he thought was an important artist so he left me alone. Jack called around five and asked if I wanted to “hit the beaches,” his expression for barhopping, but I told him I had already made plans. Which was a lie.

About an hour later this woman came by Erehwon. She was using one of the duplication video machines we own and as she squatted down to loop some tape onto a reel, she had an almost perfect bum, so I started up a conversation with her. Turns out she’s really into Thomas Pynchon and I’ve been reading Gravity’s Rainbow so we’re seeing each other tomorrow on my day off.

January 27, 2006

Elizabeth did not rise as I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Like kissing marble. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her looks and celebrity, as usual, attracted attention from those seated around us. The waitress drifted over and we ordered skim cappuccinos.

Once upon a time, her beauty was unleashed upon me in all its raw, unadulterated, fully naked power. It was a gift. But it was also the weapon she used to bring me down. Beauty is a double-edged sword. What did Dostoyevsky say? “The dull edge is the worst”? Back then, I exalted and suffered simultaneously. Now, all I get is the unforgiving hammer of the dull edge. She knows that even now as I despise her, I ache for her. So she hides herself behind a dozen frigid veils, refusing to meet my eye the way I want her to.

Elizabeth asked, “How’s your girlfriend?”

“Sarah?”