At the bar, Laura leans against a column to reach for her purse. The column falls against the wall with a plastic thud.

L: So that’s not attached to anything.

B: No, it’s not so much a structural element as a…

M: Big plastic column, made to look like a structural element, that will actually fall over the moment someone touches it.

B: Yeah, every bar needs one of those.

L: Good for drunk people.

M: Keeps ‘em guessing.

I push past the crowd in the kitchen to get some ice for my drink. He’s standing next to the refrigerator, and I hear him say:

My cat watches me pee…

Then I return to the living room.

The best part of Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton:

“A boy salutes as he has learned in the school, and cries umfundisi. He waits for no response, but turns away and gives the queer tremulous call, to no person at all, but to the air. He turns away and makes the first slow steps of a dance, for no person at all, but for himself.”

For the last ten minutes, I have been watching quasi-celebrity commentary on the Williams sisters’ asses. In the last ten minutes I have not begun to learn French, started the next great American novel, or told anyone I loved them. I have not done any sit ups, flossed my teeth, or contemplated my future. Most importantly, I have not reached for the television remote, which is mere inches from my right hand. Projecting this data set to its logical conclusion, it’s probable that I will drown in a puddle of my own drool a few hours from now during an E! documentary on Scarlett Johansen’s lips. Someone pass the Chee-tohs.

L: Do motorcycles run on gasoline?

M: Yeah.

L: Where does the gas go?

M: … In the gas tank.

L: Well, yeah, of course.

M: You asked.

L: But, I mean, where? Like does it fill up into the handlebars or something?

R: That doesn’t seem like it would be safe.

M: What did you think it ran on?

S: They should make bikes that run on pee.

L: Like you’d pee into a tube and the bike uses it as fuel?

M: Yuck.

R: I want a car that runs on pee.

M: You’re a dreamer, baby.