If I'd been drinking coffee at the time, I would have spit it out. Thank goodness I wasn't, since I was standing in a crowded subway car at the time. That time was when I casually flipped open the June 19-25 issue of Time Out New York to find my nemesis Zach staring back at me.
“Do you like the Rolling Stones?” Zach, 50, asked me as he pushed buttons on the jukebox. “Hell, no!” I shouted. “Only old people listen to that shit!” Zach frowned. “How about the Beatles?” I shrugged: “They’re okay. Why do you have stains on your shirt? You need a bib,” I said, tucking a cocktail napkin inside his i love ny tee. Zach stepped away: “Fuck you! Go home to your rich boyfriend!” I upped the ante. “Go fuck yourself and stop playing shitastic music!” Zach took his middle finger and began sucking on it, and then stormed out of the bar in anger. Cheers, mate.
Source: "Tippler Tolerant" by Alexis Tirado (TONY)
Stained "I Love NY" t-shirt? Sound familiar? Here's what I said about my encounter with the Zachster:
He stumble-bumbled, stumblebummed into us and forced his way into our conversation. He looked vaguely like Sloth from The Goonies in a wine-spattered "I Love NY" t-shirt. He claimed his name was Zachary...
I am now more disturbed than ever. Who or what is Zach? Does he only wear a single, perma-stained, "I Love NY" t-shirt? Or is he some sort of apparition, a souse caught in a Möbius strip, forever gamboling in and around the Mars Bar, an East Village Enkidu yet to be tamed by the ways of civilized man. With some luck, I'll never find out. With some luck. But I stand by my statement: he looks like Sloth (post a bit of Hair Club for Men action).
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