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1 min read Identity

Misidentify

Our apartment is on display. Right on the corner. She told me about this guy she opens for sometimes who lives across the street. He asked her tonight who her roommate was -- apparently having peered through the window. Who was the Mexican guy sitting on the couch watching television, he asked her. Yes, that would be me. Funny stuff. Forget the sex misidentification. I really should start keeping track of the racial/ethnic assertions. Like the one on the train yesterday when a guy needing to get to Brooklyn walked up to me in a Spanish state of mind. "No espanol," I said. And he then broke into perfect English.

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