Well, that’s what I wished to look like, like Betty Davis with black feathers on my shoulder blades and white-and-black leather boots (laugh), and when she whines, ooh, when she whines from the gut and she yells about fucking, oh alright, excuse me (laugh), sorry, sorry, boning, getting busy, you know, knocking boots or whatever, using her throat, using men, using men, or even being the mistress, being their flower, a flower, she’s not being submissive, uh uh, no sir, she owns them, she owns them, they beg for her and that’s who I most wanted to be like. And I’ve tried before to be like her, even though hers was a performance. (pause) You know I met that man in the street. (pause) Remember him? The man with the suit? He wore a hat and a suit, a really fine suit, he always seemed to be in some sort of a rush, his pace was quick (laugh), his suit moved around his body as he moved, he moved quick, quick, the material was expensive. (pause) I could tell by how the material moved around his joints, how it moved around his elbows and his knees. While he moved quick the material moved slow, and he moved between people real agile like while he carried a single banana in his left hand, gripping the single banana, and it left an impression on me, you know? What a thoughtful thing, I thought, him bringing sustenance to wherever he might be going next, a job interview, I thought, but he held no leather briefcase, no résumé, only the yellow banana, a fruit I never liked, too soft, too sweet, so then I thought he might be rushing to a person, a woman, or even a child, and later I thought maybe he just liked walking quick like that, sometimes too quickly, but I was hot on his heels. The skin on his heel was dry, it scratched my legs as he climbed over me—

I remember him now, I remember—