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The Interview
by Marsh Cassady

So my editor tells me that we’re going to start a “Man in the Street” column. And guess who he picks to do it?

It’s Brooklyn, in late November. Who in his right mind is going to be out in this weather!

So I’m standing on the corner not even knowing if I still have feet, my nose an ice cube, and I see this guy walking toward me. He’s so bundled up I can’t tell much about him. Hood, scarf, gloves. Well, this is it or nothing, I think.

“Hi, I’m a reporter,” I say and tell him about the interviews “And since you’re the only man I see–“

“You want to talk to me?”

“What’s your name?

“Moon Planetoid.”

“Moon Planetoid!”

“My friends call me Sunny.”

“Sunny?” I think I’m having a bad dream.

“Well, except for my mom. She calls me flashlight.”

You’re kidding me!


“Why would she do that?”

“Because I’m so bright.”

“Where you from, Moon. May I call you Moon?”

“It’s my name, isn’t it? And I’m from Brooklyn.”

“Here, you mean? Brooklyn, New York.”

“Where else you gonna find a Brooklyn!”

“You’re a smart ass, huh?”

He smirks. “Not just my ass. All of me’s smart. I got enough smarts in my little toe–” “So what do you do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I’m losing my patience. “What do you do in Brooklyn?

“Hang out at Prospect Park; go to LIU, Zeckendorf Campus.”

“You’re a student?”

“Pretty much what I said, isn’t it.”

“What are you studying?”

“Girls, mostly.”

“Your major.”

“Higher learning.”

“You can’t major in higher learning!”

“No, but I can get pretty high at Zeckendorf.”

“What? You mean drugs?”

“You crazy, man! I’m not a druggie.”

“Then what’s this bit about getting high?”

“Zecky’s main building is tall. I try to take my classes at the top.”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked sarcastically. “And why do you do that?”

“Obvious, man. Mom always said I needed a higher education!”

“Like your higher learning.”

“Of course,”

“A real card, are you?”

“Not a card. A Planetoid.”

“Is that really your name?”

“Is that really your business?”

“Okay, then, how old are you?”


“You said you’re in college.”

“Wandering around in the solar system circling all those galaxies took a lot of years!”

“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?”



“I don’t think I am. I know I am.”

By now my teeth sounded like Mexican castanets. I slipped my notebook into my pocket and abruptly took off down the street.


I turned back. “Yeah, what?”

“When’s this gonna be in the paper? I want to tell Mom.”

I didn’t bother to answer.