ANYTHING BUT A WASTED LIFE

I just danced for a pretty cool guy. And he had money to boot! He owns real estate in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York, which is pretty much the American dream. He travels constantly, mostly to high-end, international, soul-searching retreats. It takes big money to reach enlightenment these days. At one point during our two hours together, he told me he had written an article for the New Yorker. He was cavalier, but I could tell he was fishing for a reaction. But I couldn’t fault him; an article in the New Yorker is impressive. I gave him the proper response. But then he said that his article had been was about strip clubs. Oh boy, here we go. He hadn’t been to a strip club before writing the article, so he went to a whopping three to research his piece. He now considered himself an expert on life as a stripper. Give me a fuckin’ break. That was his writing stint, and now he’s in the movie business because he figured it would be fun. Being privileged must be a hoot.

 

 

 

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