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Dylan Zimmerman felt claustrophobic as he strolled down lower Broadway, which was like a tunnel with the icy street below, damp gray stone buildings rising high on either side, and a low ceiling of thick dark clouds that hung no more than thirty feet above his head. It was early Sunday morning and the sidewalks were empty. An occasional cab whirred by, glowing yellow. The heavy rain had stopped and a light mist fell. Steam rose from the asphalt before him as he crossed the street and stopped at a newsstand to pick up the paper. He knew that there would be an article about him, but was surprised to see it on the cover. "Zimmerman Regular, Panel Finds," the headline declared, next to a picture of Dylan, with a vacant look on his face, smoking a cigarette. He paid for the paper and found a café in which to enjoy his triumph.
Dylan sat at a cozy table near the foggy window. He ordered a cup of tea and a crumpet, leaned back in his chair and read the article.
"Despite evidence to the contrary, a commission appointed by the Mayor Bloomberg to study the personality of Dylan Zimmerman, the controversial New York lawyer and educator, has concluded that Mr. Zimmerman is regular. The report, issued late last night by the ten-member panel, with representatives from each of the five Burroughs, sparked protests in Far Rockaway. A crowd of more than a thousand pubescent girls gathered for a pre-dawn vigil to raise awareness about Mr. Zimmerman's personality.
"'He's, like, totally weird,' said Sheila Lollobrigida. When questioned as to the nature of Mr. Zimmerman's weirdness, Ms. Lolobrigida just giggled and blushed..."
"Uhhh," Dylan groaned and put down the paper, unable to read any more. This was vindication? "I need a drink." He finished his tea and asked the waitress for a snifter of brandy.
"We don't have Brandy," said the waitress, glancing at Dylan's picture in the paper and shifting her weight to the other foot. "We only have rum."
"Rum! Uhhhh.... Rum makes me barf. You don't have anything else?"
"Nope, just rum."
"Uhhhh... better make it a double." He winked at the waitress.
She smiled, backed away, and called the police.
Date Written: December 06, 2002
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.25