The clock is ticking...I have a mere 30 minutes left on the clock here at Café Netto. And the warm-up suit-wearing dog is nowhere in sight.
Okay, so I might have overreacted about how much everybody in the show hates me. In fact, I --what is wrong with this spacebar? It's getting all stuck...first apostrophes, now spaces. What is with this City??
(As I was saying) In fact, I seem to be quite the hero. At least I was yesterday. It's nice to leave a building to the chorus of thesbians saying, "[Forky], you're a rock star!" The best thing is that none of them have any idea how neurotic and terrified I am of this whole thing. I mean, come on. COME ON!
I've developed a slight cough. I think I might be coming down with something fatal. That would make the most sense. If my life were a movie, that is. Can you see it? Young man who looks vaguely like Jesus...abandoned and penniless in the big, cruel City, cut down by the consumption just as the big break was about to hit. Who will miss him? Who will throw rose petals into his grave? Who? Who? WHO?
The weird thing is I never get sick. I'm usually the picture of health. So it must be serious.
Time's up. Well, no, actually, I have 15 minutes left. But you know. Waste not, want not, I always say.
2 comments:
I don't think you look much like Jesus at all. Maybe Ted Neeley as Jesus...
I'll throw rose petals, just let me know when you die, OK??!
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