Recently, I met a fellow named Boa Constrictor at a neighborhood pub. He said he was in the garment industry and, before that, he was in the merchant marines.
He said, in his youth, he would often be mistaken for a movie star with his long, shaggy hair and translucent silken skin. He dated all tops of creatures, some reptiles, and some who were mostly bored.
Boa came to be known around town as a fellow who wore his heart on his sleeve. He cried at all the right spots, and was a painful listener--painful because he heard more than he could tell.
One day, while crawling on the border between 32nd and 33rd, on the upper west side, Boa came upon a garbage truck that mistook him for something that was flung from a tenement doorway. Boa found himself writhing in anquish from a hangar on the side of the sanitation van hoping someone would hear his pleas for mercy.
As luck would have it, a rabbit he met for brunch at a little dive off Broadway earlier that week happened by, took him in her mouth, and hobbled off.
The rest, as they say, is his story.
(any Freudians in the audience may now go back to sleep)