I went to David Letterman's last night. It was just a few close friends for drinks and laughter. I've always liked David. Cordial and well dressed, he seems to have aged somewhat gracefully and I've always admired his ties.
It was strange though, high up in the highest up of high rises in New York City. I always had suspected he lived in Connecticut, tucked away in some small bedroom community and played euchre on Thursdays down at the VFW. I imagine though that a man of his stature has many secret hideaways. My wife wasn't there. No surprise as she never has liked David or been able to understand his humor.
Anyway, after too much smoke and high philootin, I moseyed out to the deck for some fresh air. I know what you're thinking; a deck? David Letterman? It should have been a terrace, but this is New York City and after all, only a dream.
It was so tiny as to be ridiculous. Postage stamp tiny. One of those shitty little decks you see on the wrong side of town. Apartment buildings that you swore you'd never live in and then you did. You with your babies on your hip, smoke on your lip and husband in the lot working on the old Pontiac. Oh, wait, that was me. It was cheap twisted two dollar rod iron not screwed in correctly. It shook and wobbled and I trembled.
Well, wouldn't you know it? Out comes David to join me and lights up a smoke. You didn't know he smoked? Well, really only in other people's dreams. So he lights up and seems so cool and so nice and he walks to the edge and looks over. My God, it must have been a thousand feet straight down! Over on adjoining buildings, people were waving and throwing confetti. I guess they were expecting him to show. Now get this, here I am all scrunched down low on this little floppsy deck with my mind swimming to the danger, and David throws down his smoke and says, "Give me a boost, will ya." Just like that!
I looked at him in that perfect green striped tie with confetti falling around his head. "huh?"
"You heard me, give me a boost up!"
He was serious! He wanted to climb over the edge, grab onto the rickety deck above and climb up. With a thousand feet of dirty street below. I told him I wasn't going anywhere near that edge! Told him he was crazy. He looked at me like I was Joaquin Phoenix. He let loose with every cuss word imaginable and told me what a lousy low down coward I was. Then he was gone. On to the rail, over the edge, onto some PVC gutter and up he went.
I woke up in the morning sprawled on a lawn chair, face down. I hoped I hadn't moved much in the night and that I could find my way back inside. There was a fat old guy sitting in a chair next to me. Probably just a hanger on or a neighbor. Dave's the neighborly type. Dave was no where to be found.
I doubt if Dave will ever invite me back or even to Connecticut. Because he was fearless and I was afraid. I should have known it was only a dream. I should have climbed. But God knows what he would have had me do next
It was strange though, high up in the highest up of high rises in New York City. I always had suspected he lived in Connecticut, tucked away in some small bedroom community and played euchre on Thursdays down at the VFW. I imagine though that a man of his stature has many secret hideaways. My wife wasn't there. No surprise as she never has liked David or been able to understand his humor.
Anyway, after too much smoke and high philootin, I moseyed out to the deck for some fresh air. I know what you're thinking; a deck? David Letterman? It should have been a terrace, but this is New York City and after all, only a dream.
It was so tiny as to be ridiculous. Postage stamp tiny. One of those shitty little decks you see on the wrong side of town. Apartment buildings that you swore you'd never live in and then you did. You with your babies on your hip, smoke on your lip and husband in the lot working on the old Pontiac. Oh, wait, that was me. It was cheap twisted two dollar rod iron not screwed in correctly. It shook and wobbled and I trembled.
Well, wouldn't you know it? Out comes David to join me and lights up a smoke. You didn't know he smoked? Well, really only in other people's dreams. So he lights up and seems so cool and so nice and he walks to the edge and looks over. My God, it must have been a thousand feet straight down! Over on adjoining buildings, people were waving and throwing confetti. I guess they were expecting him to show. Now get this, here I am all scrunched down low on this little floppsy deck with my mind swimming to the danger, and David throws down his smoke and says, "Give me a boost, will ya." Just like that!
I looked at him in that perfect green striped tie with confetti falling around his head. "huh?"
"You heard me, give me a boost up!"
He was serious! He wanted to climb over the edge, grab onto the rickety deck above and climb up. With a thousand feet of dirty street below. I told him I wasn't going anywhere near that edge! Told him he was crazy. He looked at me like I was Joaquin Phoenix. He let loose with every cuss word imaginable and told me what a lousy low down coward I was. Then he was gone. On to the rail, over the edge, onto some PVC gutter and up he went.
I woke up in the morning sprawled on a lawn chair, face down. I hoped I hadn't moved much in the night and that I could find my way back inside. There was a fat old guy sitting in a chair next to me. Probably just a hanger on or a neighbor. Dave's the neighborly type. Dave was no where to be found.
I doubt if Dave will ever invite me back or even to Connecticut. Because he was fearless and I was afraid. I should have known it was only a dream. I should have climbed. But God knows what he would have had me do next
~Rick
