The other day I was standing on the sidewalk with a lady friend in Hollywood, we were sharing a cigarette. Out of the corner of my ear I hear a woman call her son Eric and I turn around. There’s Eric, flirting with his mucus.

A toddler dressed in green with his right index finger jammed so far up his nose I feared brain damage.

I told him it was bad form to pick his nose so overtly. He continued his olfactory expedition and fired blanks at me with his adorable kid eyes.

My friend let fly that as long as he wasn’t eating it, he was cool.

The mother hustled him off. We forgot to think about how much we were embarrassing her.

Oh well. Our pie was ready.

Damianos. I still got a piece on top of the nuker. I think she’s about cured.

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