Also, a dream.

Two nights ago, I had a dream that I was sitting with a friend outside of a building when a limo drove up. Out got the one, the only, Mr. David Bowie. Only he wasn't mature, self-possessed, married-to-Iman David Bowie--he was Labyrinthian David Bowie. He approached us, shook our hands. When he got to me, I marveled at how soft and delicate his hands were. 

"You have the softest skin I've ever felt," I said to him, as he held his hand as if to proffer it to me for a kiss. "What do you use?"

"Oh," he said nonchalantly. "I have a guy. A lotionierre."

I nodded and released his hand, contemplating the tasks a lotionierre might undertake. David Bowie continued on. My friend called after him, "Say hi for us!"

He stopped and turned around. "Say hi to whom?"

"Henry," I said, as in my head, my friend's baby Henry suddenly became David Bowie's newborn Grandson Henry. David Bowie laughed. I woke up.