I can’t even impersonate a damaged artist anymore. I have actually had friends for fifty years and some of my dinner dates are not tax-deductible for business—the sign of really having a successful personal life. Knock on wood, I’m in good health. Good Lord, I’m seventy-three years old and my dreams have come true. Couldn’t you just puke?
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
Oh, no!
… Somehow I Became Respectable. (Hat tip, Edward Champion.)
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