It was another miserable party with Roger running around the room complaining about the caterers and how they only spoke Spanish and Irish.
I said, “You have Gaelic speaking waiters?â€
â€I don’t know what they’re speaking, but I can’t understand a word of it and where’s the petit fours?â€
How old was Roger now any way? A hundred and six? He looked like a skeleton with spots and I was drunk on an awful combination of vodka and cheese and I needed to sit down when Adrianna came over with party hats and started talking about the Dubai port scandal and atom bombs in containers in New Jersey and she was going on and on about the Chinese scanning for radiation and I felt bloated and nauseous and thought that when and if they blow the beautiful harbor it will be over quickly, unlike this party.
Anything would be better than this party.