by Jeff Glovsky
I went around in a woman’s coat one winter. A leather number … Hourglass-shaped, fur collar and a hanging leather strap, or belt. I didn’t care! It kept me warm. Plus, it was in decent shape. It didn’t have holes in it … the buttons were all on and the zipper worked … Its owner, before me, used to say it fit her like a glove.
So I’m wearing this ridiculous wrap one winter – and a suede beret, which I found in a hardware store – and this diner guy intimates I’m a fruit.
“You’re a fruit,” he intimates.
No, admittedly, he was a bit more subtle. Stares for a minute before taking my order; double-takes toward the counter girl, who’s smacking gum and chuckling to herself. Looks back at me and wisecracks loudly, “He likes girls!”
The counter girl – lust, full-bodily – smacks bawdily, “Ha! I don’t think so!”