So I bring Mr. De Blasio back to my home for a nightcap.

The conversation is just being polite.

You know, like, yes, because people hear that and they go, that's a little forward.

It's like, actually it's common courtesy.

When the conversation is estimulating as it was over the roast goose that we had dined

on, there should be mutual agreement to say, let's continue this over a Schweppes back

at yours.

A delicious, refreshing tumbler.

Full of Schweppes, green tea ginger ale.

And so one round ice cube, a fucked up straw, a split straw, one of those shitty like

compostable straws that breaks in half.

It's already been in there a while.

Some of these like, you shoot it out of the side of it.

Yeah.

And just keep this thing going, keep this vibe going.

And so we get back to mine.

He takes in the foyer, very nice.

He sees the gas book laying out on the side table and says, I'd love to with a sort of cheeky

smile, takes up the gas book, pulls a mop lock from his lapel and begins to leaf through

it.

Now I had just brought this gas book out recently from an earlier time in my life when I was a

bachelor, when I would bring prospective partners back to my home and I would leave the

...