I woke up it was 7, I waited till 11, Just

I woke up it was 7, I waited till 11, Just to figure out that no one would call. I think I've got a lot of friends but I don't hear from them, What's another night all alone?

It was precisely these types of desperate emotions that fueled by creativity as a songwriter. Pink recorded "What's Another Night Alone" and just like that, I was rich and famous.

But I was smart. I invested heavily in my 401k. At least that's what I thought. In 6 mos. I was poor and unknown again. Except that I knew Pink's many dirty secrets. I could sell

my collection of hand-crafted wooden dolls whilst I thought about what to do with Pink's secrets. My money troubles improved when a buyer offered me

something special by way of trade. A promise of services to be determined. A blank nonmonetary check. I relinquished four dolls and three rumors and secured my path to a soul.

After tucking my chattel away in his attache the the factor removed a small lavender envelope from his fob pocket and hand it to me. "Your soul will be at this address."

After he left I opened the envelope that contained the location of my soul. "Brigitte's Diner, West 4th Street" it said. What a dive. Figures. I contemplated living without it, but

Had to check out the diner, which the newspaper reporters inhabited and discussed their daily business. A billy goat walked in and said, "I came all the way here from Chicago!"

He didn't look bad for a Billy goat who had traveled the 108 year trip from Chicago to Cooperstown. Oh, his beard was a bit gruff and grey, and he smelled like a locker room, but

his journey had now come to an end. Cooperstown's baseball hall of fame, the place where he finally could be one with Babe Ruth's autographed bat, stomach and spirit satisfied.