After ma got dressed with her fancy baby blue frilly double-stitched padded bra, she still had boobs like Jagger. This impressed Calvin Klein, who we sort of hung out with, or stalked, at MOCA’s pre-Basel launch party. Not sure how we got in the front door wearing neon umbrellas but I think they thought we were performance artists. The lady at the front gate said we won the best hat prize. The funny thing is we weren’t wearing hats. We just wore our heads.
For some reason someone took the stars from the universe and then tried to sell them as art. Ma said stars are not art because they’re just actors and actresses.
Look, ma shouted, that star has legs.
No one else wore umbrellas. It was like a circus of suits and ties, dresses and skirts, trousers and long sleeve shirts. Calvin Klein wore sneakers. No one was in drag except the waitresses.
They also stole the goddamn moon, ma screamed. The shadow man was a man.
After an hour checking out the celestial bodies at MOCA, we left. We got hungry so we went to Taco Bell. Ma order a hamburger to no avail.