My roomy is Frank Sinatra. (Guess the recent HBO documentary has something to do with it. How should I know?)
Frank ambles into the room, looking restless and jumpy. “C’mon, let’s go do something,” he says.
“I don’t know, Frank,” I reply. “I kind of live a boring life even though it never bores me. How that’s possible will forever elude me.” He says nothing. “I like to take long walks,” I say as way of a suggestion.
He stares at me with those blue eyes, as if about to say something like “Good Christ, you really are boring.” Just then my 5:30 alarm goes off and I awaken, never to know what Frank Sinatra was about to say.
BILL
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