Old Man, Look At You Now


10:30 p.m. on a Friday night. This is when the pulses with syncopated life, as New Yorkers flood the streets, laughing, dancing, drinking. As the song says, the neon lights are bright on Broadway; the clubs and bars are dim, packed, warm.

But where is our faithful hero? Is he to be found amongst the suited masses in midtown, clinking glasses in hipster dives in the East Village, chatting up a comely lass in Chelsea?

No. He is sprawled atop his bed wrapped in the arms of Morpheus, sleeping an ungentle sleep, and snoring loudly.


Is Morpheus hot, at least?

The first thing I thought of when I read that was "The Matrix"...

There are comely lasses in Chelsea? Have the demographics changed?

No, LadyCrumpet, but makeup technology has.

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