I AM WALKING
I am walking with Audra McDonald, and we enter
the Mollusk Surf Shop in some funky-ass section
of Venice, California, looking for ice. She says her
throat hurts, and she has to sing tonight. 'That,' I say,
'Sounds like nothing but trouble.' A twisted goofball
rolls by on in-line skates and nods - like he knew,
like he fucking knew, that was Audra McDonald and
she had a sore throat. I said, 'Don't sing. I'll bring
a record player, and you can lip-synch.' It was a
joke, but she twists up her face, and says, 'but
how will I do that scratchy background noise?'
I smiled back, and said, 'yeah, well, that was my
joke.' I bought a cap, and put it on my head.
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