Me, Joey, Al, Mia and Sal

I AM readin in the papers where the film star Mia Farrow is plannin on writin her autobiography an tellin all about this affair she has at 17 with that artist guy by the name of Salvador Dali and about the day she "lunched on butterfly wings" with him an toured New York City with garbage collectors.

She ain't kiddin either. I oughta know, cause who do you think is on the garbage truck that very day? That's right. Ale. Big Joey, Al and me. No way any of us ever goin to forget that day. Well, Al's dead, poor guy, but me an Big Al still here, thank God, we got a good pension too.

We was doin duty in the Bronx in those days, our beat run all the way from Fordham Road right up to Grand Concourse. It never was no fancy run or nothin, not like my cousin Hank covered down in the Hamptons, but we didn't mind. Dirt's dirt anywhere you go.

Anyway, the day in question, we are just comin off Jerome Avenue with the truck pretty near full, when Al says - Hey! Get a loada this pair!"

We follow Al's advice an clap eyes on this cute blonde chick, maybe 16/17, wearin not too much, an hangin offa the arm of this dude with a huge greased moustache who is totally dressed in canary yellow. I mean like a three piece suit, hat an shoes, every single item bright yellow. We coulda used sunglasses, he was such a dazzle.

Next thing we know they steps right out front of our truck! Big Joey hits the brakes and he hardly gets a swear word in before the kid hops up on the runnin board, pops her head in the window and says straight off - "Hi! I'm Mia and this here is Salvador, the half mad half enchanted and totally inspiring Surrealist with whom I just lunched on butterfly wings, and now we want to tour New York City with you guys!"

Big Joey gets real excited an says "Hey, ain't you that kid from Peyton Place?" Mia, she just smiles an we all shove over in the cab and next thing you know there we are, me, Al an Big Joey sittin right next to a real live TV star an a world famous artist, takin them on a tour of New York City!

Fact is actually you couldn't really call it a tour of the city. We just take the truck up an down Grand Concourse a couple of times, empty a few wheelie bins an Mia and Sal are just delighted. Then Al, he says, "Hey guys, getting near knockin off time, what say we hit Mike's?"

"What's Mike's?" says Mia. Al near bursts his gut laughin. There is nobody up there in the Bronx in those days who don't know Irish Mike's bar on East 149th Street.

So that's where we go. Me, Al, Big Joey, Mia and Sal. Mike puts out a great welcome as if he ain't seen us in years, though fact is we spend nearly every afternoon there in those days.

Now, Mike's ain't no fancy place but Mia an Sal, they was like, enchanted. Mike puts up five Tom Collinses in front of us, heavy on the gin too, an Mia swallow half hers in one gulp like she is drinkin soda water. Sal meanwhile starts talkin about stuff like absurdity an the roll of the unconscious in art, which ain't making much sense to us.

I make a crack about the roll of the unconscious in Mike's bar most nights but Sal takes no notice, just gabs on about him being under the influence of Day Chirico or some such.

Mia meanwhile is under the influence of Tom Collins, I reckon. She is makin up to Mike's son Buddy behind the bar an he is lappin it up. I can't blame him none neither, Mia is that cute with her little elfin hair do, it is just a pity she never shuts the hell up, she is full of that psychology stuff bout how a man should try to be more like a woman an understan a woman's feelins, which everyone got any sense knows just ain't possible, not here in this world at any rate, an therefore bein a complete waste of time.

I am trying to tell Sal that sanitation workers don't usually have no truck with art but Sal says it ain't true we don't have no truck, or what the hell was we all drivin in? He means that sonofabitch five tonner sittin outside of Mike's door, but he has to explain this to Big Joey, who ain't too quick, so he doesn't try no more humorous stuff. He is funny enough in himself, I reckon.

Sal gets a little outta line later in the evenin, takes to decoratin the wall with a can of paint that Mike has stored in the back. We wash it all off later though Sal says we are destroyin art. Then we all have another Tom Collins an the party really gets goin. After a while however we ain't gettin no more sense out of little Mia, she just sits there sayin "If I seem to be runnin, it's because I'm pursued" over an over. There ain't ever any accountin for what women will say at any time.

It was one swell day. I sure hope Mia don't forget none of these details when she gets round to that autobiography of hers.