The mom died a couple years ago, so I moved in with my dad because he wasn't doing so well,

and he died a couple weeks later, and my family wasn't crazy about the message I left on the

answering machine. Hi, this is Mick. I'm not here right now, and everyone else is dead.

From the smallest room in New York City comes a show that gives you a reasonable end.

The towering towers of Manhattan, reinforced concrete, steel and glass packed into midtown like

thousands of immense pushpins all vying to mark the same spot on a God-sized map of the world.

And that spot is the city about which God feels the most ambivalent.

That's what he gets from the people here.

And when I say that, please check the box next to true.

I can speak from the heart of every knickerbocking resident of the five boroughs.

Not only if my intel good, it's divine.

Empirically evident in the equivocally quizzical,

facial expressions which are identical in the stock trader

the Jamaican nanny and the lout laws of nature and it's actually like finding money on the

ground the natural laws almost an oxymoron and given that the divine principle seems to be chaos

not that it's a bad thing, it's the hand of God.

And natural laws, I think, are the exception, not the rule.

They're more like scoff laws, defying the strictly enforced anarchy of the Lord.

Like a living weed popping up through a crack on the sidewalk.

I join me now,

Mick Diffloffle.

In this rich vein of crime

...