So, yesterday, right? I'm coming in my building and this sorta-crusty 49-ish dude asks if I can help him move a recliner up to the 2nd floor, and I say sure. Why not?His shoulder was all tore up so another guy (aka Helper Guy 2, me being Helper Guy 1) was going to help.
So HG2 and I are lifting this chair from the trunk of an American-made sedan when ol' 2 says "Waitaminit, waitaminit..." and with the recliner anxiously resting on the edge of the trunk, takes time to light a cigarette, so he can move 'n' smoke.
So, I am walking backwards up the steps with Tore Up behind me and HG2 wafting clouds of cigarette smoke at me. Both of them seemed to be on something, because they were talking but not quite connecting: "I'd never help a fat chick move a chair like this!"
"Yeah, now that's the truth. My old chair, I gave it away...needed another chair..."
We get up to Tore Up's studio pied-a-terre and he opens the door, which opens onto a futon, a couple of tables. One wall had a large navy square painted on it, with a a border of white. That's it: just a big navy square. On the opposite wall, just hanging from hooks or nails, were four different baseball caps.
And then, sitting on a little coffeetable was a single CD:
What's more, I dreamed none of this. It all happened.
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