December 3rd, 2002 - 3:39 a.m.

Starting off semi-poetically, and turning into an excellent capitalist.

Am an uninsured romantic. Apparently, cannot afford to get hurt.

Could use a hero. With heroics. And what not. Mostly, not. Am not a good liar.

Could use a pair of black kid leather gloves more. Cashmere lined. Quarter length, size six and a half.

Could also use a new pair of Costume National boots. Kitten heeled. Calf length. Size six.

A custom made shirt or two. Fourteen and a half inch Windsor collar. Twenty two inch sleeves, French cuffed. Black, half inch spaced dark gray pinstripes, Egyptian cotton.

A large punching bag. Coated canvas. Sand filled. And a sturdy bough to attach it to.

A red Salvatore Ferregamo bag. Silver hardwear.

Several Hermes scarves. Some pleated. One can never have too many of such.

A Hello Kitty accessory, of the vibrating sort. Ahem.

A collection of background music.

There is no place for sticky sentiments here. So, disarm your gluing mechanisms, and disband. Am on the verge of tearing. Go to sleep. Right.

N.

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