LOST:
(virtual flyer tacked with a red plastic tack, end broken from hammering, to a sapling on a busy street)
HAVE YOU SEEN MY ACADEMIC CAREER?
IF SO, PLEASE CONTACT ME.
ROCK ON,
NJP

I am in the midst of a freelance gig, part two (ding-ding) begins in a few hours. I informed one of my hirees that I am in grad school. She looked confused. SO I CAN TEACH IF I SO CHOOSE, I sort of warbled out. Well, if you ever do teach let me know. (long pause) I'd like to learn how to take better photos.

?

So, minding my own business, like fucking usual, and standing in the doorway of Jon's Salon (the man who gave me the crimson chunks and who is retouching them for brightness's sake this pending week) I see famed and lanky product and housewares designer Karim Rashid. Today, all dressed in white. Yesterday it was an all-pink ensemble, right down to his powdery pink shoes. Shot him last night at Albright-Knox Hallways of Art as he was lecturing, expostulating, espousing and effusing. Left Cheryl at the AKHA bar with one Jeff(rey) who was regaling and regaling to make the/my familiar less so, if you catch my deft storytelling drift.

So there was the imported designer, Rashid, meandering down Elmwood Avenue, the Middling City's one last outpost of pedestrianism. Spending his hard-earned design dollars in the MC. Jon ran to the window, leaving his client mid-cut, to see the man. I dared Jon to rush out and ask for an autograph, but on his left buttcheek. Jon, a rockstar, refused.

Love Refuse.