"The Morning After"

On the morning following our Fellini"s Underwear show at Utrillo"s Gallery, my best friend David and I, accompanied by our dear friend Nena, made a bohemian"s breakfast tour of downtown. We first stopped by my usual cafÈ on Massachusetts and each had a coffee and an espresso shortbread. We next went to a cafÈ at 11th and Alabama (my mental blurriness prevents me from recalling its name) and sat at a sidewalk table, drinking more coffee and engaging in our art-talk. Thusly fortified, we then, in what was our definitive masterstroke of the morning, stopped by the Dairy Queen on East New York Street for Dilly Bars.

"Ahhhh, this is the life!" David said as we wheeled away from the Dairy Queen in his rental car.

"Indeed it is," Nena said, racing to keep up with her rapidly melting frozen treat.

"Ughhhhhhhhhhh, I shouldn"t have had that diner food at 1 this morning," I moaned dyspeptically.

We drove around my beloved near-Eastside, looking at all of the burned-out, abandoned and boarded up houses.

"A socioeconomic crime scene," David said with indignation.

"The direct effect of municipal mis-investment in sports facilities and general slushfundism," I added.

"It reminds me of a big melting geographic Dilly Bar," Nena chimed in from the back seat.

"So boys," Nena asked, "how does it feel to be the low-rent Hoosier Gilbert & George, as it were? Any new art-projects on the horizon?"

"Uh, not at the moment," I said. "I"m taking a break from my art-career for a few weeks."

"Oh well, J., one questions your commitment to your art anyway. I mean, at your show, you didn"t even talk about art with anyone, you just hung out with your wonderful Ms. O," Nena said dryly.

"My dear Nena," I replied, "even an edgy artist such as myself has his priorities!"

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