i am, i guess, like bill cosby. not the part where he raped—did i stutter?—some 35 women (so far), but the part where he, in an AP video interview once, expected as his inalienable right that that interviewer should have “had the integrity not to ask” about the darker stuff.
integrity, not that he would know it. not to ask, now is that too much to ask though?
a text tonight from this guy who has spent some nights in my apartment went “sum1 der? don’t want me to come thru?” he is so fond of this preposition instead of over. must be street coinage these days. i texted back no.
no one else is here. just i, achy and lazy as a hippo on midday. fool, ask me again.