fantasy island

no helicopters bringing guests to the island. no midgets (can i say that?) arching eyebrows auguring crazy hijinx among the tipsy guests.

but this: on the way into manhattan—the island, see—a friend and i passed gabriel byrne on the brooklyn bridge, on our walk from a pizzeria to a party my friend n. was having for vi de mayo. and i swear he checked me out. well, can't swear on it, but i like to think so.