Hey, dude. What’s up? What are you drinking? Brooklyn Brown? I love that stuff. Hey, so. Cool party. Whose party is this, anyway? Sydney’s? Is she here? This is her place? Cool. Hey, listen—what? Oh. Oh, you’re in finance? Oh, that’s cool. I’ve never really dabbled in that stuff myself. Listen, when are we going to acknowledge the fact that I’m wearing a bolo tie? 

Will there be square dancing at this party? Are we in a Lou Diamond Phillips movie? No? So . . . why am I wearing a bolo tie, again? 

This is the rooftop garden landscape of Perry Street, the swankest spot in the Village. So am I crazy, or is this a bolo tie? 

Finance, yeah. Oh, you’ve got kids? Oh, that’s cool. Yeah, the Mets are terrible. Oh, they’re good now? Wait, who opened a new Dimitri’s? Where? Seventh? Is the one on Eighth still there? Which one has better octopus, do you think? Hey, do you think they’ll serve octopus to a guy in a bolo tie? 

Why do you think I’m asking? 

The bolo is actually the medallion at the throat. It’s also called the slide. It’s not authentic without metal tips at the end, the cord has to be real leather, and—Christ—is nobody going to ask me about this stuff? 

Who invented it? Victor Emanuel Cedarstaff—what the fuck is going on? 

Dude. Dude. Quiet. Sydney’s looking at us. Don’t look. She’s checking out the tie. Ha! Does she think it’s a knockoff or something? Then how do you explain the combination of bolo tie and authentic wing tips I bought at Kenneth Cole? 

Is she confused? Are you confused? Deal with it. 

Oh, you’re wearing suspenders, good job. 

Whoa, boat shoes, nice going. 

Pleated slacks and tasseled loafers: What are you, ironic? 

Do you think a normal guy just waltzes into a garden party like this wearing a bolo tie and expects no one to remark? I’M NOT NORMAL. That’s the point. 

Look, I get it. You’re amazed. Be amazed. 

But I didn’t come here to listen to your bullshit about finance and kids and the number of people here who are probably sex offenders only for you to go silent about my sartorial choices—specifically, I’ll admit, the bolo tie. I’m interested to hear your thoughts on my bolo tie. I’m open to words like amazing, subversive,and heroic. 

Allude, if you want. I’ll take an allusion at this point. 

No thank you, I’m not hungry. Hey, how are the Mets doing, by the way? Are you a fan? What? They’re tied? tied going into the eighth? 

Well. 

This is embarrassing. 

Now we’re talking about ties all of a sudden.  

Next thing you know someone will ask me to play this acoustic guitar slung Bon Jovily over my back. 

What? This thing? 

I’m self-taught.