Paradise, paradise, paradise... I had one of my own.
I was in a restaurant with oaken walls, reading the paper only to see a page that struck a chord in me - the name "Rissman." To the laymen, Didi Rissman is one of the girls in my life who actually shared an interest I still have. Anyways, I was reading an article about living in Manhattan... references to living up north and seeing nothing but not-so-theatre-savvy people whose only experience was Forbidden Broadway.
I was reading the article, and I saw this picture of Didi in a pair of pajamas -- red, polka-dotted pajamas. Silly me, I think I'm done with the restaurant and I have to go... I went to the coat check room, and I saw people waiting to see Didi only to be told that she's talking to a manager. If they can wait, I can wait. I mean, a Marine once told me that patience is a very important virtue in being a sniper, right?
I was in another building now. I took an elevator up, and I saw dark, discolored marble walls and lots of doors to bathrooms. They're easily open doors, but I can see lots of signs for "men" and "women." The existence of so many bathrooms boggles the mind.
I went to one of those bathrooms, and I out of there because the door is not lockable. Not to mention the bathroom is nothing but a closet with a toilet.
I woke up, and I saw the moon standing above the orange "wannabe" moonlights that blaze outside the home office. I think I should write to Didi again.