This is our living room. It includes a dead cow, skinned and laid out; a Kwan Yin head, an English Bulldog, a copper engraving, a Canal St. subway sign copied from the Woody Allen movie “Husbands & Wives”, a model of a human skull, two needle points, a monkey or two, lots of books, and hardwood floors.

And some blue-ray DVD loading on the television screen.


This is the home in which I live.

This is my little refuge.

It is the inside of my heart.


You should come over some time.  We’d love to have you.

We hate everyone else, but we’d make an exception for you.

I can almost guarantee it.


Today I sat in a three hour meeting trying to convince my boss we had enough to go on this guy who killed his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend several years ago.

My entreaties fell upon deaf ears.


I will yet sway him.


I don’t give a shit about most things. But if you murdered someone in my goddamn town, and I know it?

Well, you are going down.


In other news, I don’t know.

Maybe you can tell me.



Except for you, you know who you are.