They seem to like me. Sure I am paranoid, but really they seem to like me. Frank Okada handed me a shot of scotch and called me an ofay nigger son of a *****. There was no doubt as to his love. His mentor Fred Mitchell wished me to come to Ellsworth Kelly’s estate and be a love object. Fred was a sweetheart. He was the original owner of “The Hester Street Cat”, a black and white tom that ripped the guts from an attacking dog. Mrs. Gillespie didn’t like me and I didn’t care. I sure didn’t like her. Her with her low cut sweaters leaning forward with fat breasts making us memorize “the star spangled banner”. I got a minus one hundred and seventy three.