It's past midnight, and I'm talking to a guy named Sal, whose face I cannot remember. I have no idea what he looks like, all I know is we met in Penn Station, and that his 22-year-old brother had his hand in a puddle of vomit. He's in construction, which made me automatically think he's got some mafia connection. He's the oldest of three children. His brothers get taller as they get younger. I'm nervous about Saturday, I have no idea what to wear. I need to start packing. Remember to weigh myself before leaving. I called Carl- no answer. I didn't feel like leaving another message. Talked to Kimon for an hour and change, and listened to him ramble on about comics and his attempts to shape up. And, I realized something: I'm bored when the conversation doesn't revolve around me.
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