it was in a bar somewhere in midtown
when you told the
"you can lead a whore to culture"
joke
and i with my overpriced martini
laughed
that i realized how deep facade can reach.
my ability to pretend
goes well beyond childhood,
extends past imagination into reality:
you are funny;
that was a joke;
this is an experience to be envied.

the martini was mostly old olive juice.