After an evening of annoying phone calls taking me away from my book (Howard Kurtz’s Spin Cycle), I leave the house at 9:15 p.m. for a going away party at Jeff’s Gourmet for a 29-year old acquaintance.
Jeff’s is jammed. It’s a happening joint six nights a week for the youngies.
After snagging a $2 diet lemon-lime Snapple, I stand around awkwardly with the 20-somethings, fighting off my base urges to pick up my book and read until somebody says something interesting.
For the next hour, I listen to fragmentary small talk and make the odd ejaculation, such as to a 50-year old man nearby, "How do you keep your body so hard?"
Anne: "Levi, that’s so gay."
Jane: "If you want material for your blog, you should hang out on Hollywood Blvd at 2 a.m. I got called a slutty nun."
Jason: "You’d make a lot of money."
The girls laugh. "Yeah, you look like a hobo. No girl is going to want you looking like that."
It’s time to return to my books.
