I had a weird moment at the Pink Pony.
I went out for coffee with a friend to the Pink Pony, redoubtable institution of Ludlow Street. It’s just a few blocks from my building; I’ve spent a lot of time there hanging out with Dougie Bowne, who’s like the mayor around here. He spends so much time at the Pink Pony that we refer to it as “the Office.” As in, “Do you want to meet at the Office before the Ribot show?”
We were sitting there when Phyllis, one of the owners, came up. “Aren’t you Mike? Didn’t you have your picture taken here for that article in Bust magazine?”
Yep on all counts. I was–ahem–the “Boy du Jour” in the last issue of Bust, and they did the photo session at the Pink Pony.
“As a matter of fact, in the picture, weren’t you sitting right here?”
I suddenly realized that we were sitting at that exact same table. Phyllis brought her copy of Bust over to show my friend, and there I was, reprising the situation, in different clothes. I felt like I should be holding up that page, striking the same pose I struck in the pic, and saying to passersby: Hello! I am a tool.