Brooklyn Heights
Where he sees himself in his hot and sour soup and then he sees her. Should he chase her or finish his tea?
The receptionist is blasting a live version of Rocket Man. ‘Mars ain’t no place to raise your kids. In fact it’s cold as hell’.
Man I could go for some miso soup. Umami. There’s no word in the English language to describe it. Kind of like her. I ran into her and her new boyfriend in the square and it was raining like a damn movie. I’m surprised it wasn’t black and white outside.
Maybe I should look into him. See if he’s kosher. Nah – I got a job right here.
What does this dude want from me? Is it his wife? His kids? Blackmail? A rough up job? Life is growing more Hollywood everyday. I should get myself a fedora, it’s expected.
What went wrong? I keep hearing fireworks, seeing kisses, and the ground before it hits my head. It’s just Chinatown Jake.
Great. A country version of ‘Danny’s Song’. My phone died and the only magazines are old Sport’s Illustrated. Check it out. Tiger was still married. What kind of office is this?
“Mr. Smith will see you now .” Mr. Smith?
It better be Jimmy Stewart or at least Brad Pitt. Another minute and I’m gonna hear ‘You’re So Vain’ probably sung by Alan Jackson, I swear to god.
What is she doing now? It’s almost Chinese New Year. It’s Year of the Dragon. Her new man kind of looks like Mickey Rourke. More ‘The Pope of Greenwich Village’ then ‘The Wrestler’. Good for her.
Games and fortunes and New York nights. Lying to myself, to her, to each other. Too much, man. Too much. It’s for the best right?
No. Probably not .
Mr. Smith’s handshake just about broke my freaking hand. That’s it. I’m definitely getting a hat.
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