Ricci walks into a bar, bartender says, Say, aren’t you the guy who makes the perfume?
How many times does he have to put up with this, Ricci thinks, when will the humiliation end? The half dozen listeners in plastic chairs in the crowded corners of downtown bookstores while the cappuccino machine whooshes in the background. The interviews for web sites no one has ever heard of. The bad perfume jokes.
He orders a cosmo, no ice, and thinks of jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.
Where is his Nina this very instant, he thinks bitterly, what charmed life is she leading? Meanwhile he dreams his pathetic dream of the day when the bartender asks her, Aren’t you the gal who writes the books?
In the beginning was The Word. Then came OG. OGtheBLOG was born.
What did you learn in school today? Sharing.