Fishing season began early this year for your Miette, with the streetside discovery of a freshly abandoned goldfish with wonky telescopic eyes, in its bowl and with a note reading:
Free Fish! Please Give Steve Buscemi a good home.
And of course I did. I found an exceptional home for him, a home where he’s given all the love and post-traumatic care that he needs, and maybe even such environmental niceties as filters and plastic sunken ships. And I mention this now not out of gratitude to his new clan, although that’s there in spades, nor out of self-congratulations for my successful act as adoption supervisor, though, you know, I felt pretty good about the rare chance at a good charitable act.
But on the off-chance that the noontime hot-sidewalk abandoner stumbles across this page, you little shit, do send me an email so I can say a few inappropriate and depravedly nasty words to you directly. Anonymous tips will not be prosecuted.
But something good came of it, in that it’s a more natural anecdotal segue than I’m used to.
(This a second-hand mic, a little poppier than usual, back next week purring into the usual devices)
Two great stories, one read and one written. Thank you!
There is something about being in the woods at night. The points of reference we are used to in the city no longer apply. Absurdities seem normal. How many times have I woken up wondering “Did I really hear that?” or “Is my beloved really off in the bushes doing what I think she’s doing?” All my best, Pashka
i hope you’re refering to steve buscemi of franklin street! this is the best news i’ve heard in a long time!
thanks for caring.