RANDY II

Roman cooked dinner last night and Randy entertained us with stories of life in LA. At one point we were laughing so hard that I chocked, curiously enough, on an artichoke. Randy modeled a turquoise head band he had bought on Olvera Street. I had to draw a quick sketch. He was much funnier than the sketch. After dinner I played some of the newest Residents music I had written. He seemed to really like it, but maybe he was being nice.

I said, "Randy, why don't we put a trailer or a Jim Walter out by the barn for you?"
He got quiet and smiled back. He said he had to go. San Francisco was a long drive and he had a lunch appointment with the publicist the next day. And he left.

The night was warm and the frogs were partying over at the pond. I could hear Roman doing something in the kitchen. I felt a tinge of loss as Randy drove away. He is not me and I am not him. I stepped off the porch and removed my shoes and socks. I wiggled my feet as deeply as I could into the dirt and looked up at the incredibly sharp stars. I quietly told them, "Hi, this is me. Where my feet are right now is where I am."
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