Last year I wrote this about the arrival of spring in New York City. I would like to re-emphasize that point today. I just had a conversation about “titties” with one of the guys who works at my corner pharmacy.
We don’t talk so often – I usually just walk in, ask if any packages arrived for me, then flash him an embarrassingly self-conscious hip-hop inflected peace sign as I leave – but it was nice to find some common ground on such a beautiful day. Apparently, we both like titties. He might like them more, though. He promised he would alert me if he sees any awesome ones today. I’m not sure how he will do this; he doesn’t have my cell phone number. Maybe he’ll throw a rock at my window, then I can race down my stairs, shoes untied and laces tapping, burst out my door and scream, “WHERE? WHERE ARE THEM TITTIES???” Now that I’ve said that, I think his gesture was more friendly than practical. The fact is, he’s not going to tell me anything about titties. Still, it would be awesome if he kept a log book and presented me with a copy next time I stop in to pick up a UPS delivery: “April 20th, 1:13pm – two excellent titties headed north on 7th Avenue. Made eye contact.”
I wonder if I should go down there right now and tell him what kind of titties I like. I wouldn’t want him to waste his breath telling me about the good ones if they’re not my kind of titties. Yes, I’ll do that. As a courtesy. I need to make a list, and find my radiograph pens for sketches. I would feel like a jerk if I accidentally sent the pharmacy guy on a wild titty hunt. Maybe he can spend 45 minutes of each hour looking for his favorite kinds of titties, and set aside 5 minutes for me. Then he can use the remaining ten minutes to masturbate to his log book. Titties can be confusing!
(this entry employed the word “titties” nine times. i’m going to submit it as a spec script for “The Man Show.”)
