because I haven’t really known how to shop for myself expertly I’ve hated selecting birthday or Christmas that is, excepting books and records and a few groceries I’d like for myself you’d think spending would be a simple if you had enough cash and my dependable depression reflected insufficient variety or sassy style on the racks here but price tags on anything I desired conveyed, As I learned, kid, look, you aren’t worth anything as far as your job and life are concerned and maybe if you stole from dying widows or threw single-parent kids into the street, you’d be rich and then honestly, most men still dread shopping so what do you really want in gift wrapping?

that or the alternative, boredom, besides, we’ll have the rest of eternity to recover Ahem, amen, what’s this, a partner? or simply another vaporous angel?

what should imbibe a tone of its own at least the dialogue you know back to the earth or center city I’d say boho was largely suburban youths trying to head simultaneously in opposite directions ill equipped for either but rife with contradictions of youthful rebellion, colorful partying, prankster mentality as well as individuals in search of authentic and lasting values as the whole outbreak proves you know how much I still miss it

as I repeated through hazy defaced New Jersey and New York via Fort McHenry Tunnel just before afternoon traffic congealed, Singing along, too, just see what you’ve done? all your fault, baby  (ask me about the Greek who got a banker’s check from France with a few too many zeros which the local bank cashed so he abandoned his Dairy Queen and fled home with several million in his pocket and the FBI on his tail . they couldn’t find him but our reporter did . good old Gus.) Carnally encased desiring a conjunction of such calculations

escaped from Washington right after morning Beltway constipation at least a few traffic tie-ups, one just north of Baltimore, normal construction on the Jersey Pike (45 mph zones, observed closely after getting a $75 fine a few years back), a bit on the George Washington Bridge and Cross-Bronx Expressway ho-ho-go

you have no idea how long since I even allowed myself the luxury of dreaming like this, it’s very healthy, I’m told, hmm, as plane tickets to Dallas! (naw!) (just kidding!) security deposit on a new apartment, so I can move from this one; then use the returned deposit here for some of the foregoing, cunningly

normally, straight into the (meager) savings or IRA but with tax changes anyway thought I’d hold on to it for a while and for a switch dreamed and played, asking myself what I’d like to do with it? pay off on the car? (naw!) finally get a CD player, some Ives and Camerata discs, and those new Boston Acoustic speakers? (now that would be a wonderful self-indulgence!) or how about finally breaking down and getting those twelve-year-overdue cross country skis? gee, I could even finally throw in a ten-speed bike, too! not knowing what the IRS had uncovered but then, surprise

inside more piles of shuffling then amid still more piles of shuffling I tried to nap again until outside turned totally gray and then sprinkled until I cooked dinner against reading, my “book and newspaper fast” somehow too enjoyable up to then don’t I live an exciting life?