Yes, that’s right. Its Karma Tequila. Tag line - When Karma Flows - Good Things Happen. I thought about this for at least the next 30 miles.  

signs in the sky

Sunbathing Centerian

Remembering California in New York

A month after Christmas

I wanted to talk with Jesus the moment I saw him.  This is rarely a thought I have. Most of the time I see a man dressed as Jesus, I do my best to avoid contact. In my not insignificant experience of meeting folks dressed as the Christian Messiah, I’ve found that the vast majority of them make poor conversation partners. 

I had a sense this guy would be different. First off, he looked really the part. He was tall and moved with a slow, beatific, grace. His features were painted out of a Renaissance portait.  But it was the sign and toy balloon cross that really got me. It was class warfare with a wink and a loving smile.  

I had to get a picture with him and the short, busty Jewish gold digger. Jesus complied, with serene patience. There is something about the two photos together that tickles me. In the first, Jesus is smiling or at the very least showing his teeth. The gold digger, chest out, lips parted is striking a pose in between confused and sultry.  In the second picture Jesus is tight lipped and the gold digger is ginning ear to ear.  

I love Halloween in New York. The streets turn surreal. The normal rules of social interaction break down.  Its like the whole city becomes one giant random, disjointed party game. Everyone walks around in a series of aha! and haha moments of recognition. 

I knew she was a Gold Digger from the second I saw her.  I knew because I had once gone out dressed as Sugar Daddy with my girlfriend at the time dressed as a Gold Digger.  

She loved my friend from the moment he opened his mouth.  It was a perfect match. A perfect storm. Blood and gold. Innuendo and misdirection.  A classic NYC encounter. Two strangers looking for adventure or at the very least entertainment.  A real life real estate tycoon (in the making), fake blood oozing from a fake bullet hole, talking on a cell phone to real clients, hugging a fake Gold Digger, who works in a real blood bank but who wouldn’t mind meeting a nice Jewish boy who can pay the bills.  

And maybe all the promises 
You thought were broken 
Were never really made 
Promises never made 

bring a picture of the Virgin Larry
To your cousin in Carolina