Larry called at midnight. “I went to see this improv show for the third time. How to describe it to you? Simply the best. Not just that, though. A leap above all other attempts to do it. Unrelatable to anything else, a different beast entirely. It will forever scar me that all those talented people at the Main Stage at Second City won’t ever make something like this. These people truly elevate themselves. They make me want to partake in it. But you read Tolstoy and the rest become unpalatable.
“Afterwards we went to Walker Brothers. They make this omelet. It’s unusual and tasty and baked, so it’s light and fluffy and not at all greasy. It’s incredible. Now I can’t enjoy it any place else. Once I’ve had that. Do you see what I’m saying?
“It makes the rest of the world quite gray,” Larry said. “My life is punctuated with bright sparkles of nonreality. Tomorrow it’s back to the grim grayness.
“Maybe if we were ignorant it wouldn’t be so bad. Instead it's painful.”
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