If you run into Zach Galifianakis on the street — and by “run,” I mean “walk,” and by “walk” I mean “stumble,” and by “stumble” I mean, of course you stumble because you are clumsy, and you are wearing high heels designed by an architect and you are on your way to the shoe store where you bought them, and that shoe store, with the shoes that are so weirdly constructed and yet so comfortable, is on Bond Street, which is a street made of cobblestone and constant construction, and you are not sure why you are going there for a party sponsored by an architecture website and a shoe store and there is a line outside, and a velvet rope, and you see it and think, “Oh, this kind of party isn’t for me,” so you stop and stand there for a second, and then you see a guy with kind eyes next to you on the sidewalk and you think, “That man is so much shorter than me,” but then you remember that you are wearing the crazy high heels, and though his eyes are kind, you don’t want to marry him, and you don’t want to go into this party or into the corral bordered by the black velvet rope set up in front of the store, and you think about how today has already been such a strange day because you slept until 1:47 p.m. and then you called your office to apologize and then showered and then went to work but felt odd all day because you are not sure you know what it means to feel tired and you think, instead, that this is how it feels when something is wrong, so you work and are thankful that your bosses understand this unusual tardiness and they even seem to be happy to hear that you got such an uncharacteristsic amount of sleep and then you remember that you’d rsvpd to this party at a shoe store on Bond Street so after work you change your shoes and then you walk over to the party and that is when the stopping and the stumbling happen and you wonder if maybe you are just tired and/or if you will ever feel tired again, and he, in passing, will be a gentleman — he will nod, and you will nod, and you will walk home.
