The joke, told 16 years ago at a club in Times Square, went like this]: I was with this girl the other night, and we ended up at her house, and she said, “Hey, look, you can crash on my futon.” And I looked at her, and I said, “I don’t sleep on anything that rhymes with crouton.”
I think I heard a cough and a fork drop at the same time. Silence. But after that night, I remember thinking to myself—not to be too dramatic, but I do remember—This is the path I’m going to take.
—Excerpted from the New York Daily News
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Default Title - Write Your Own
PoetryWhat will be will be but if we don't fold our hands we can change things
