A few words from me before you leave, dear friend:
Be wary of the semi-comatose selling smoke from the comfort of their sleeping bags. Watch your pockets around women with deep grooves formed around shallow mouths, wearing short skirts to guarantee long sexual lifespans. Never carry a gun in a public space unless there are such women, or gypsies trying to sell you a fake Rolex while you’re getting one off. Don’t swallow anything that starts with the letter ‘c’ and ends in ‘m’, including, but not limited to, clam. Always leave your apartment after sundown, for fear that getting on the drink beforehand may lead to reckless, unconscionable behaviour. I know this last piece of advice you will not heed, but it had to be said.
I’ll miss: terrorising flight attendants and Japanese store clerks; pretending we’re from a band called West Coast; moonlighting as semi-professional journalists or skateboarders (depending on what the situation called for us to be); accidentally stumbling into underground biker bars or the middle of a suburban living room, chasing a drink and drunken jazz; forging press passes and short-lived relationships with foreign musicians and bartenders; but most of all, I’ll miss the four day bender that our memories have only saved in the form of a three-minute video that can not be shown to parent or those pregnant.
Safe ride, Jimmy. Start scheming, thanks for everything, and I’ll miss you,
F.
