My father can't remember much anymore. His Alzheimer's is very advanced, but he does remember me, despite my living in New York.
"At least you look like you used to look."
The mirror argues that opinion every morning, but I have to agree with my father. Very few people like they used to look. Some of them blame the change on age. My theory is that the food they eat have altered their humanity. I can't tell them this. They already think I'm crazy, so I avoid meeting anyone anymore.
A friend sent an email invitation to a re-union of the Mudd Club. I was a regular at the nightclub on White Street. I worked the door the month of August 1980. A gunman robbed me in the alley, while a girl on 'ludes fellated me. Judy Nylon introduced me to Johnny Rotten. A lot of other adventures and people. I decided to not attend the re-union, mostly because no one will look like they used to look and I don't have the shreds of my father's memory to reconnect the past with the present.
Better to keep the past in the past.
The mirror loves us better than way.
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