A waitress once told me that everyone should have his or her own narrator, and I said yes, but you– and by you I meant everyone, like you usually do– would need a good musical score to accompany your morning routine and your aimless walks and everything.
If that were possible, to have a narrator and a score following you around, I would sell the shit out of it. Full-page ads in Rolling Stone and Vanity Fair and Vogue and even The New York Times, despite the fact that it’s just a newspaper and who cares about newspapers anymore? Or for that matter, the news? It would be something like a woman sitting at a bus stop talking to the man she will eventually have sex with, and then make love with, and then marry and try to have kids with but will come to find that one or both of them is barren, are barren, and will regret that she waited too long to fall in love and will eventually ask for a divorce because what’s the point of marriage if it can’t be perfect? and even more eventually will regret it. And as she talks to this man, another woman will sit behind her, typing furiously on a laptop and at the same time carrying a turntable playing Clair de Lune. Or something. And on the bus stop poster window will be an ad for this same thing, this same scene (as if real life has finally reconciled itself with an advertisement, HA) and it will say in big block letters superimposed over the scene,
your life is a masterpiece.
And on the magazine page will be the superimposed letters
I told the waitress to work on it, and to let me know when she’d figured out how to invent something like that.