Saturday I woke up to the smell of burning tobacco. Across the room, Joey Bishop was smoking a Lucky Strike

Morning, Sunshine”, he said, and picked a stray piece of tobacco from his lip

I yawned and rubbed my eyes.

“Joey. What the christ. It’s 6 a.m.” 

Time is just a concept. Actually it’s ten after."

He pointed his Lucky Strike at a Georgia O’Keeffe print.

"Nice." Cigarette ashes fell on the hardwood floor

Skunk Cabbage. Part of the flower series. Can I ask you something?” 


“You knew Sinatra." 


“Is it true he was…how should I say this…well-endowed?” 

A cloud came over his face.

“I mean, maybe not Uncle Miltie well-endowed, but…”

“Where’s your powder room”, he asked through clenched teeth

I nodded. 

Joey threw his cigarette in the toilet. He turned to me with a look of both anger and disgust

“You think I’m a pervert? Some sort of degenerate, is that what you think?” 

He lit another Lucky Strike and took a long drag.

Joey Bishop disappeared in the exhale

Sunday I woke again to the smell of tobacco smoke. 

"Morning, Sunshine. There an ashtray around here?"

I yawned and rubbed my eyes.

Across the room, Forrest Tucker was smoking a Chesterfield.