I got up this morning and left a dream where I was alone on a deserted island with only dried strawberries to eat. My days were spent watching black and white re-runs of Ed Sullivan episodes with its jugglers, jazz dancers, Beatle singers, Borscht Belt comedians on one liner highs. "A really big shoe," I'd repeat as my late evening mantra as I skated along a sandy white beach on wooden skis.
My awakening was accompanied by an empty belly so I went to my cupboards and found what was left: a single dented can of coconut milk and cellophane bag with a small serving of Captain Crunch cereal. In despair I picked up a shiny aluminum pan and saw a face reflected back to me: sallow skin, drooped flesh, grey eyes once brilliantly blue. Only if I had money to buy DVDs of The Ed Sullivan Show. I'd watch them on a large TV in order to cheer me up, to keep me sane. But there were still the dreams of Borscht Belt comedians, a last laugh to keep me from falling to pieces.