Sunday, December 9, 2007
Sam takes me to his office holiday party where I drink the open bar and eat the free tenderloins. I get in a fight about Ezra Pound with a dude everyone later tells me they had bets I would punch in the face. I pop with a fork the balloon with the picture of the boss's face on it. We dance and go afterward to do Irish car bombs with the Indian kid and the kid with one leg. The kid with one leg agrees with me that life is tenuous, so you might as well smoke. His friend shot off his leg when he was fourteen with a twelve-gage shotgun. He is deft with his crutches. He does not need to make up stories. The Indian kid and I talk about Ganesh and the caste system. He is a Brahman. I say, of course you are, you're in this country. He laughs. Sam and I try to dance proper but he elbows me in the nose when he spins me. The streets are cold and I'm not used to wearing heels. I love Boston anyway.