Sunday, July 15, 2007

554 days, 8 hours, 6 minutes, 24 seconds

Seems like Hairy's not the only one.

So okay, time to come out of herself, time to look around her. In the coffee shop, two mothers (maybe sisters), one fat, one thin, with two boys, one fat, one thin, the fat one maybe ten years old. Old enough to be civilized. They've got skates on, no, those sneakers with wheels in the heels (meals on wheels, she thinks). They go sliding up and down the aisles, the mothers doing nothing to stop them. Then they go outside, staying within the mothers' field of view, skating into guardrails, swinging from guardrails, running in and out the emergency exit, pounding on the windows. The fat mother orders French fries and couldn't care less.

And the other day, in front of the Whitney, she saw all the paparazzi in wait. Amateurs, mostly. And some blonde haired woman came out with a fat old man who couldn't protect her and they started flashing. And she darted back in. And he came out alone and got a cab and they flashed again, trailing the cab down the street, trying to peer in the windows. She has no idea who the woman was. Probably someone connected with the "summer of love" show now at the museum. She has no idea what the show might be. It was her first summer back from vegetation, and she couldn't have cared less about whatever love might be.

Aren't you ashamed of yourself? the immigrant fruit vendor chided one of the photographers, kneeling by his stand, packing up his camera.