Which way to Carnegie Hall? An outstretched hand, a shivering finger pointing east. I turned my attention. Can that really be the way? The streets are narrow and the buildings smoldering. The stranger had on a mask of Bob Dylan, but his hair was bone straight. I figured it was best to giddy up. No use sticking around. His assurance was puzzling, considering his lack of pants. Then again, should I expect anything less? He was, after all, wearing a mask. And it wasn't even Halloween. There's got to be some kind of lesson.
Without a second thought, I put my Richard Nixon mask back on and headed down the street. I've got places to be and Carnegie Hall is that-a-way.
See you.
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