Lou Reed

Dear Z,

In the photo you are sitting on a V-line train holding a condom that you’ve blown up like a balloon. You’re offering it to a passenger we’ve adopted, a man, mid-fifties: beer belly, Rasputin moustache, trucker’s cap. He looks sweaty and incredulous. Like he loves you but you’re freaking him out. I know how he feels. Where were we going on that da…