i have nothing against vaudeville.

so he calls me up and he says, i haven’t been sleeping more than three or five hours a night (welcome to my world) and i get these moments that feel like catholicism (yeah i know exactly what you mean only i wouldn’t call it that exactly). then he says he wants to fuck (yay!) i can hear by the squawking and barking that he’s at the pet store, so i hurry on over almost stopping at the bar for a beer but there he is standing outside smoking and we’re climbing all over each other in the parking lot decide we can’t do it out there. we discuss the likelihood of either of our roommates (it’s like a boarding school, except with a pet shop and a bar, okay?) and by this time i’m naked and we’re walking upstairs (and dick clark is not looking at my ass) but his** grandparents are in his room and his gramma makes a wisecrack about boobs and cackles like a madwoman as i back out of the room clutching a pillow. then we’re watching this comedy, it’s young and kinda urban and contemporary and it’s well-written and the actors have flawless timing and we’re laughing so hard and finally he catches his breath and asks, why is comedy so much better now? and i say it’s because we finally got rid of all those vaudevillians with their playing to the cheap seats.

fade to wake up.

** not dick clark’s grandparents. the dreamsex guy’s grandparents. who may in fact have been dead, come to think of it. yeah ’cause he said he sent them money and it came back no forwarding address, isn’t that dream for dead? hmm.

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