It must be a sign of the departure of too many brain cells (do they go to the same place as deleted characters? - hmm, i guess at some point, I will be come a deleted character). Anyway, where was I? Yes, I was on the corner of Bleeker and McDouglal Streets in Greenwich Village, a collection of old buildings and egos on a small island alongside the Hudson River. There used to be a coffee house on that particular corner that was the gathering place for the elite among the period's avante garde writers, musicians, actors, etc. Although many took themselves very seriously, I do remember two pieces of graffiti written on the post to which the cafe's pay phone was attached.

The first said, "It's better to have flunked your Wasserman than never to have loved at all". The second, which I didn't get at the time, was, "Who's afraid of Virginia Wolf?" Since I once spent an evening there in conversation with Edward Albee's roommate, I figure Albee was struck by the same grafitti although he apparently knew what the Viginia Wolf reference was. Me? I would have written a play called, "It's better to have flunked your Wasserman..."

by Sourdough