It was half-past eight on a Monday night and I dropped by on my friend Zigman Zibanski. He greeted me dripping wet, covered at his waist in a droopy towel. Staggeringly drunk, he held up to his mouth a cheap bottle of vodka and sang: "She tease you, ya...She unease you, ya...She got da' Bette Davis Eyes."
He swung his arms in a crazy figure eight motion and fell to the floor, nearly crashing his head on the broken bottle. With almost all my strength I lifted his heavy frame onto an uncertain couch and rested his feet on an armrest, placing a stained throw cushion under his head.
I loved the man like a brother. But sometimes he broke my heart too much for me to stay.
On my way home my mind played like a loopy Walkman,lyrics as wobbly as an old tape: "She'll take a tumble on you...She'll roll you like you were dice...She's got Bette Davis eyes."
Poor Zigman. Took a tumble like dice.