Sunday, November 26, 2006

Hard to Explain

I once knew a girl who only dated rock stars.

Her parents didn't love her, I think.

She started with drummers, then worked her way up; the bass player; the guitar guy; finally the front man. She would go on tour with them, she would sit in the studios with them, and most importantly, she would always hold their hand during pictures. That was a huge deal.

One night I was at the National Arts Club, and it was Jimmy Fallon's birthday, and she was there. She was alone and she was beautiful. I came upstairs from the galleries and she was all by herself and sitting on the steps.

"What are you doing here?" she said.

"I belong here," I answered, and I meant to the club, but I could see on her face that what I said was right, and wrong. "Do you want to come sit with me?" I asked, and she did, all night. We talked about how we met at a futball game in high school and how Kettle chips taste better and how Sidekicks are so fussy. And then it was time to go.

She said "I'm so sick of hanging out with people who don't get it. Even stupid things like potato chips. Please. Can we please spend more time together?"

The next week I saw her on Greene Street with Jakob Dylan. She saw me too but she didn't say hi.


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