Eating wiggly sunny side up (what else?) eggs in front of the Figaro Cafe, Rick Shapiro drinks $18 worth of espresso and coffees and smokes a pack of cigarettes, his hands shaking the egg on the fork, while we turn over the earth together, Summer, 2011.
It goes like this:
Me: I’m so happy to embark on our friend-ship. You can be the captain, and I’ll be the first mate.
Rick: I don’t want to be the first mate. I want to be the stowaway.
Me: And I’ll be the rat catcher.
Rick: And I’ll say “Where is this plane taking off to?” or “Are we going to Brazil?”