I slept ill or not really at all the night before last, and was just in a blind, dead torpor going through my email late the next morning, when Friday knocked (The new, elderly, inexperienced concierge has not yet learned of Friday's officially disgraced status), wanting, I think, to crash. And I, unwilling that he should, walked him over to the Park instead and treated him (and myself again) to Bratwurst and beer in the shade in the Biergarten over next to the stage, where we sat together yelling critically [Friday: "YOU'RE AWFULLY WHINY TODAY!] over the "music." Friday remarked knowledgeably that the band onstage were playing "sort of blues, but not; sort of country-western, but not; sort of retro/jazz, but not." "Oh," I said, not a little impressed, but totally not comprehending, never having thought about those being distinguishable categories of "music," just wishing that it would stop. There was a grateful, refreshing pause during which it did stop, and we could hear the static and feedback over those monstrous speakers Then the band started up again [Friday: "DO YOU EVER GO TO CONCERTS?" Me: "WHAT?" Friday: "CONCERTS--YOU EVER GO TO THEM? WHERE THEY HAVE, LIKE, BANDS? THESE SPEAKERS ARE NOTHING LIKE THE ONES THEY HAVE AT A REAL CONCERT."], and after a minute or so, stopped again. Friday said, "Something just died up there." "Really?" I said, quite sincerely, "I didn't notice that anything had gone wrong." "That's very interesting," said Friday, "You should remember that." "Well, I said defensively, "it's all wrong, isn't it? I just like it when they stop." So we left. Walking out of the park, we encountered a gang of Jesus Christers, with signs and a bullhorn denouncing homosexuals as specially subject to damnation. I walked up to within inches of the young woman with the bullhorn and shouted in her face, "LOWER YOUR VOICE!" Thence here again, I got Friday stoned, and suffered that he get on the computer to talk with his sex-buddies at Gay.com; which suffering perceiving, Friday picked up his stuff with indignation, taking Dopey (which wounds me), and we parted our usual brass rags. I've been reading and sleeping like a baby ever since, recuperating.