By Kofi Fosu Forson
So honestly, what if I were a gorilla, blessed with savoir-faire, since being a vampire is Roberto’s destiny. He is an accomplished strategist, the one and only vampiri. In the past he had an entourage of women following him around. It all started as a collegiate prank when costumed as Dracula, he gained attention from people he would otherwise have given an offensive stare. Women labeled as trollops were his ideal. He never thought much of the chaste, saving them for sarcasm. It is an advantage he has always had over me: how to be pompous and attract unwanted attention. Then again, there’s tonight and the prospects of Halloween, but even that encompasses a fancy that fleetingly lasts a day. If I truly were a gorilla, I might entertain prospects of pugilism and its governing rules in order to prevent homicide. It is a wonderful game. All I have to do is show up and my presence will be felt. First impressions are so important. The thought of being a gorilla is on my mind. I reframe my personality to fit into the gorilla suit. I’ve had it since the days of art balls and frolicking at Rhode Island School of Design. It is not a hailing of Halloween, but a way to convict myself of failing to live prosperously. In essence it’s a jail. When I put on the suit, I survive the ordeal with tightened belly, a twisted grin, and heavy breathing. It won’t be long before I make my way out the door onto the streets where other re-defined personalities are roaming and wanting attention.