Dear Guy who works on the floor beneath me who I see smoking cigarettes occasionally,
I think it is adorable the way you wear a coat and tie for your part-time seasonal telemarketing job. "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have," you tell me knowingly. Surely you are a man who has figured life out in all of its complexities. Your co-workers must benefit awfully from your wisdom. I am sure they recognize the quality swath of cloth from which you are cut. I also love the way you optimistically tell everyone that you "work in sales." So ambitious!
In fact, I have taken a lot of what you said to heart. For instance, you may notice that I am wearing hip waders and an aviator's cap. That is because I want to fly one of those floating planes that ferries fishermen out to backcountry lakes. I have always thought that that would be a fun job.
Also, I have started going out to bars again, after a rather disappointing season last spring where no girls would talk to me at all. But now, rather than dressing as myself, I am wearing a black smock and priest's collar. I love the idea of being a debased and disillusioned clergyman. See Richard Burton's character in Night of the Iguana.
We are talking Sue Lyon (that's Lolita to you), Ava Gardner, and that intellectual babe with the crippled father. Debauched priests get all the motherfucking play.
