Does The Stereo Define Us.

The Uber driver was new in more ways than one. Not like the Korean gentleman who had driven me to my beloved Avenue of the Stars the two previous morns, but a woman who had never seen me before, and by her demeanor had never seen the Westside before Lord bless her.

They never say anything to me. I never say anything to them. I think they may think I am somebody and because I'm wearing an Organization For The Return Of Fashion Interest hoodie I am, in a very obscure way, quite actually somebody, but they don't know that so I just go ahead and read my Nancy Mitford and go ahead and be taken to the Westside.

Once at Avenue of the Stars everyone is quite decent and no one mentions my most recent total and complete social humiliation which is kind of them in a way, and I make no mention of my plans of leaving the country permanently and everyone seems happy with this arrangement. I don't know if my clients will be please because the number of the people in this joint that can actually hold their shit together is dropping fast. Another thing to be filed away in the folder Not My Fucking Problem.