I know that, for some inexplicable reason, you have accidentally stumbled upon me in this bizarre virtual world that we all now inhabit. But I did not invite you, so I can only imagine that, given your attire, I must have Googled something along the lines of “tarty, cheap, slutty, skimpy underwear” in the past and, strangely, that led somebody to believe we were a perfect match.
The man who has just entered the carriage of the B train heading Downtown to Brooklyn is standing six inches away from me. He sounds forceful. Not angry. Just forceful. Like he’s auditioning to play Brian Blessed. “And I’ll tell you what happens when you leave prison,” he booms. Now, I am very nervous. Not just because Patrick is speaking very loudly, but because he is wearing a rucksack.
You have no idea how angry a statue can get when trying to separate you from your dollars. “Not you! Selfie! Me! Reverse shot!” I yelled, in that way we have of talking to foreigners (and statues) who can’t speak English.
I’ve always thought that being a defense lawyer must be a lot tougher than being a prosecutor. If they’re in court in the first place, they must be guilty, that’s my instant reaction (Guilty until proven more guilty, in other words). In defense, you have to come up with so many more ridiculous excuses.
It strikes me that Hefner is one of the most moral men I have ever met. Not hurting people, whether that be socially, politically or sexually, is always at the top of his agenda, and his sense of doing the right thing is clearly something that has influenced him both personally and professionally from childhood.