My back was acting up that night, so I couldn't move away from you and the conversation with the dementia-addled old lady. With your tiny black shawl, skintight jeans and heavy purple eyeliner, you looked like an upper middle class vampire. — I just came back from Toronto. I met the Dalai Lama. He told that the road to happiness was hard, but you had to keep going.
Then you threw your arms upward, palms out, as if you were scattering your own personal sand mandala. I felt a stab of compassion for the Dalai Lama, who went from being essentially a living god to a peddler of homespun happiness to Westerners. Thank you, art show vampire.