I once bought a hat, but it was too small. I once bought a cat, but it was too large. Far too large. It took up so much room in my apartment that I had no place to stand, so I went for a walk, even though it was October. It was cold but it was Sunday afternoon, so I tolerated the inconvenience, as one tolerates a houseguest who is of a higher social station than oneself and therefore must be tolerated, lest he should be insulted. When was the last time you had a houseguest? The seventies? Last Thursday? Well then, you know what I mean.
As the afternoon and my walk through it continued, I felt like a cup of coffee, meaning I wanted one. The cup of coffee I ended up with cost a dollar fifteen. At first I thought the woman behind the counter had said "a dollar fifty", but I was delighted to find that I was wrong. I had become so accustomed to paying nearly two dollars for a cup of black coffee that a dollar fifty seemed like a bargain. Little did I know, until the woman behind the counter corrected me, how much of a bargain I was getting.
Later I sat freezing (almost) on a bench along the Hudson. Radio, television, and cell phone signals were passing through my body and through the bodies of all the joggers and cyclists who passed by on the esplanade. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. (There were also some people walking and riding scooters.) I was thinking more about how I would respond to the latest vile criticisms being lobbed at me in the tabloids. It wasn't looking good for my political career, or my career in Hollywood. I decided it was time to call in the attack dogs, my lawyers. I told them to call in their attack dogs as well, just to be safe. I went home that night with a secure feeling in my stomach. Of course that might have just been my luncheon settling in.