snap shot

I'm looking at a picture of Alan Cummings and Alex Kingston, on a film set, somewhere in America. The picture is in the Sunday New York Times (which I have hand delivered....by a virgin, single mother, immigrant).

This world is funny. If these two people were to speak of Vancouver, the place where I house most of my clothes, they may eventually come to mention my me. I am connected to each them by one person. There has been sex involved. And yet they stand there in their filmic self-importance, not realizing the golden coin (me) which has passed through their respective purses. And they'll never know.

This seems to be the hallmark essence of my Zelig-like existence. Always "the friend of" never "the Friend".