You’ll never guess who I just saw on the street? Broadway, just south of 18th, on the east side?
Him! What’s his name! That … that … that … guy!
I couldn’t believe my eyes! I’d seen him on stage recently, with my fabulous and gorgeous new sidekick, where we both ogled his leather-encased thighs and his general Latinosity, and swooned at the way he manipulated his electric violin, but here he was, not two feet away from me yes, in leather pants, and yes, it was he because I could identify him even with his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, just by his strangely sexy slightly gap-toothed smile arm in arm with some chick also clad in leather pants … yet I said nothing!
I have spoken to him in the past, I have exchanged grins with him, and I think even hugged him, but for the life of me all I could think was, It’s Juan de Jesus Lickmyviola! Oh my god, it’s Juan de Jesus, yes, Lickmyviola! That Juan de Jesus! Lick … my …
… viola.
But of course that’s not his real name, it’s the name we gave him that makes me giggle like a 12-year-old, and by the time I remembered his real name, he was more than half a block away, completely unaware that my head was host to a feverish struggle to remember what the hell his real name was so I could act all cool about running into him on the street.
Instead, the whole way home, I hummed to myself, Juan de Je-su-u-uuuss … lick … my … vi-i-i-o-o-o-laaaa….
Reeeeal smooth.