Congressional Record

Oh yeah, the Park Slope crowd is more my speed than Tish James’ assemblage could ever have been. For me, attending a de Blasio party is like a springy walk down the gentrified street, augmented with speeches, banners and drinks. Even my goo-coated sense of insufficiency is the same as in my day-to-day realm, though this time informed by my uncomfortable encounter with the man himself. Yes, the de Blasio woman is my kind of woman, the kind I would settle down with if she’d let me. The only impediment is the goo. But that goo comes from the mind, so a quick trip to the bar is apt to dam its flow.

“Andrew Lederer!”

Too late. I turn, sober au goo.

“It’s nice to see you.” (Can’t remember her name.)

“I’m surprised. You didn’t look too happy last time.”

“Yeah, I did consider deeming you dead to me, but…

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