These are the relationships that now define me: Smartacus and Suzanne, plus Catty Cakes, the maestro of my life. Plus White Fang, my bombshell of a dog.
I’ve been taking White Fang to a nearby soccer field, where she sniffs the stinky scents left by the kids who play there on weekends and thinks -- momentarily at least -- how good they might taste on toast.
My buddies boost me, understand me, inspire me, disappointment me. It’s like owning a Welsh rugby club.
I now wake my teen son for school by tossing dog treats in his bed and turning White Fang loose to roust him. Tell you what, it works.
I got my very first awkward kiss, from a slinky actress in the lot behind the high school. Terri was a tad taller than me, with twisty legs of licorice.
We’re all star dust, remember? No matter who we are, how successful, how short, how strong, how naked, at the end of the day we’re all merely cosmic dust (hydrogen, lithium, merlot…)
Did you know there were still Good Samaritans left in LA? Me neither. But there they were, helping me save the dog.
The golden retriever pup hears voices that aren’t even there. She hears the whispered second-thoughts of wayward angels … she hears aphids making out in the trees.
I don’t think I could ever leave LA. You don’t quit on your team after a few bad seasons. Plus, there’s Damon’s. And Porto’s. And my attorney Billable Bob, a magnificent man and an inspiration to so many.
I lost my entire fortune in the Great Depression of 2022. Yet, like most tycoons, I plan to start over again. At the race track.