The following story is 89% true.

The large man shouted, "Souvlaki!" His voice sounded familiar, if not entirely comforting. Soon it became clear that the small man runnin' things was not giving in, and so the large man said "Fine!" and threw some money at the vendor. The small man runnin' things hastily stuffed the crumpled-up bills in his apron pocket as a victorious smirk crept across his runnin' things face.

The large man finally turned around. I almost dropped my corn dog and my new issue of Barely Legal Asian Bike Messengers magazine. It was one of my favorite actors: Vincent D'Onofrio.

D'onofrio appeared to be in "a world of shit," standing there with one foot in the street and one on the curb. His evil eyes shot invisible "fuck you" lasers at the cars that sped down Houston street. He barely clung to the seven orders of chicken on a stick in his right hand. Grease and sweat were running down his fingers, soiling his brand new blue velour Roca-Wear warm-up suit. In his left hand he cradled a tiny white kitten ever so gently, slowly rocking it back and forth.

Within minutes, all the chicken had been devoured and his handsome face was a veritable grease mask. He threw his head back and let out a terrifying werewolf howl. Then suddenly, three of the dudes from Interpol approached him. D'Onofrio sold them the kitten for the tidy sum of a nickel and some old Laffy Taffy wrappers.

As Interpol hover-biked to their waiting helicopter, I could barely make out the sound of heavy sobbing coming from D'Onofrio, now sitting on the curb, holding his giant head in his oily hands. Just before I turned to go he raised his eyes to mine. I saw him clearly then, his red and white clown makeup running off his face in sad streaks, slowly swirling away into the filthy gutter like so many broken dreams.

It really happened...

***

Kittenpants

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