THE DELAYED FLIGHT

I'm in NY attending to my second career as a pet-sitter, and except for the delay referenced above, the trip was totally uneventful, but the taxi ride from LaGuardia presented me with a stunning tableau, namely, as we were passing a vast cemetery on the BQE, behind it the tops of the Manhattan skyscrapers loomed out of the fog just like headstones. It's such a blatant juxtaposition that it has to have been photographed thousands of times, but the first time you experience a cliché, it's fresh, and this was my first time. Maybe next time I'll just glance out for a second, and then go back to texting on my iPhone (iHope to have an iPhone by then (whenever then is)) and muttering under my breath "that view is so September 10th", if I knew how to mutter under my breath, that is. My plan for this week is to hook up with Steve Buscemi, who is said to haunt this region--woops, I don't mean "hook up" the way these young proboscis punk kids who think the world is their oyster mean it; I'm not looking to have sexual intercourse with him. I mean I just know that if he met me he'd be sure to like me and we'd become pals and trade iTunes playlists and whatnot. And I'd amend my will to stipulate that Steve give the eulogy at my funeral, so that whoever attended would whisper to each other, "Isn't that Steve Buscemi? Jeez, maybe we had Sparky pegged all wrong." And then they'd all start sobbing because they treated me so badly during my lifetime. And I, up in my booth at the Heaven version of Monty's Penguin, would glance down with a knowing smirk and then go back to texting other angels on my iPhone.