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: Yeah…

Me: You’ll be hiding with your eye peeking out of a hole in a cabinet on the floor below deck,¬†and I’ll come in with my rat traps and open the trap door…

Rick: And I’ll say “Where is this plane taking off to?” or “Are we going to Brazil?”

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