I would sashay down Park Avenue with kittiejenn dressed in boas and rhinestone-studded sunglbumes, replying to the disgusted fashionistas with, “In higher circles they call it eccentric.”

I would spelunk deep into the id of ChilePepino until the ducky midbrain overloads and bites at the heels of bread-bearing children at the park pond reach epidemic levels.

I would levitate outside Fran’s window, serene and Buddha-like in the lotus position chanting, “favela favela favela favela” until in madness she disappears into the shanty town, not to be seen again until she leads her tribe to freedom after The Fall.

I would meet Lee Harvey Oswald on a dusty Old West road and our hands would hover over our holsters, the tension echoed in the faces of any settlers who dared to peer from behind their shutters, and hours would pbum sizing each other up culminating in an historic water fight immortalized in the songs of children for ages to come.

I would purloin every Penny Saver from Something Witty’s doorstep, later returning them well after the valuable coupons therein have expired and become null and void.