jamie takes bright all the time, talk about white light, and look at him... well, he looks kind of sick, actually... and i don't like those bruises on his chin. maybe he ran into salvador -- sal's been hanging around spying on luiz and i think he's jealous of us, living like we do in the lap of luiz, so to speak -- i mean, platonic but sharing the apartment. all of us. the shower.
so, there's this guru hair dresser on atlantic... i mean, he studied with the dally lama or bukowsky or something, and he says to me, he says, "mike -- you gotta change your attitude, cause some blue eyed monster's gonna show up in your karma when you kick, and you're going to follow him down to hell, just like you did george. you know smack makes you look old, dear."
all's i know is that i'm supposed to follow the white light. that's the bardot tallboy; that's all i know, and i figure it's enough. the rest of this shit is just washable, boy o'boy. you take jamie. he just got home from an all-nighter with some frizz-slippered sales guy up in the bronx. please!