My Dead Boyfriend Page #3

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at Mary Boone. Oh! I rhymed.

When you see Primo, tell him

his Helne forgives him,

and I just opened up

my own art gallery

on Twenty-fourth

and Eleventh Avenue,

and I would love to show

his work. Hmm? D'accord?

I never heard the word "work"

associated with Primo.

I never heard there was

an Eleventh Avenue.

I... I've walked

a thousand miles

Yeah I've walked

a thousand steps

To be embraced

by your lovin' arms

To feel the shake

of your loving bell

Every step I take

I take toward you

You take one

in the other way

"The Cumming Attractions

by Primo Schultz."

What can I do

What can I say

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Ugh. Hey! Hey,

what are you thinking?

Hello?

What the hell is this?

This is Primo's mother.

Hello, Mrs. Schultz.

I guess I must have the wrong number.

Hello?

We spoke last night.

Oh, my God.

I can't believe this.

Don't you know I love ya

Can't you see

what this is all about

Ugh.

Mrs. Schultz.

Who is this?

We spoke yesterday.

I told you about Primo.

My name is Mary.

I never heard of you.

I live with him.

Whatever.

He's going to be cremated,

and I'd like you to come by

to pick up the ashes

here in New Rochelle.

Um, already? New Rochelle?

Well, I thought it would be

nice to have them scattered

down there in that filthy city

he loved so much.

Well, wouldn't you like

to do that?

I'm going to have

the ashes on Monday,

but, uh, I have to have

some work done on my face,

so would you please come

at 11 a.m. sharp?

Uh...

On Thursday the 23rd.

Eleven a.m.,

Thursday the 23rd.

Poor Primo.

So young,

just like his poor father.

How young?

Oh, God. There.

Tomorrow we'll take

a much longer walk

to the doggy death camp.

One quick little shot

and you'll never know

what happened.

Hey, pick up the poop!

It's not my poop!

You're holding

the f***ing leash.

Okay.

This band sucks.

Just...

I got it.

Joey.

You're actually walking a dog?

It turns out

if you don't walk him,

he uses your living room

as a urinal.

He's a she.

What?

Your dog, it's a she.

Oh.

Oh, we have dinner tonight.

Right.

Um, I'm just gonna

run up and change.

Ah. Really?

You got fired

from your temp job?

Excuse me, my boyfriend just died.

That doesn't strike you

as a bigger news story?

You never introduced me,

so it's not like I have

an emotional attachment.

Neither did I.

Can I get this

out of your way?

Can I get that in a body bag?

Uh, a doggy bag? Thanks.

Joey Lucas

and his credit card

appeared in my life out

of nowhere about a year ago.

Zoe and I had started a band

a few months before

when we got tired of hearing

everyone else's sucky music.

We decided to create

our own special brand of suck.

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