They said it takes a “certain sensitivity” to write that story and I didn’t know what the fuck they were on about. It was some shit from that place in my head where ideas come from and get forgotten. They laughed where I expected silence and didn’t say a word about the best part where he compares her to the Brooklyn Bridge. That was damn romantic. I’ll never be the poet Whitman because I don’t want to be. Similes are for pussies. Be the fish or the lion or the rich man who woos with diamonds. I can’t say why I wrote any of it. I’m the messenger is all.