DONALD E. WESTLAKE GUARANTEES: NOT FOR HUMAN FEET

Ebb Tide Bar And Grill
Amsterdam Avenue and 158th Street, N.E. corner


“When Andy Kelp walked into the OJ Bar & Grill on Amsterdam Avenue at six in the evening, the regulars were discussing the proposition that the new big buildings that had been stuck up over on Broadway, one block to the west, were actually spaceships designed and owned by aliens. “It’s for a zoo,” one regular was suggesting.”

“No no no,” a second regular said, “that isn’t what I meant.” So he was apparently the one who’d raised the suggestion in the first place. “What I meant is for the aliens to come here.”

A third regular frowned at that. “Aliens come here? When?”

“Now,” the second regular told him. “They’re here already.”



Once We Were Aliens
Aliens Entering Buildings for Examination | Postcard, 1925


“I don’t see no aliens,” he said.

“Yuppies,” the second regular told him. “Where’d you think they came from? Earth?”

“Yuppies?” The third regular was a massive frowner. “How do you figure that?”

“It’s the yuppies, all right. Here they are all of a sudden all over the place, every one of them the same. Can actual adult human beings live indefinitely on ice cream and cookies? No. And did you ever see what they drink?”

“And you notice their shoes?”

“All yuppies, male and female, they all wear those same weird shoes. You know why?”

“Fashion,” the third regular said.”

“Fashion?” echoed the second regular. “How can it be fashion to wear a suit and at the same time these big clunky weird canvas sneakers? How does it work out to be fashion for a woman to put on all kindsa makeup, and fix her hair, and put on a dress and earrings and stuff around her neck, and then put on those sneakers?”



Not canvas, but still
Balenciaga Triple S

They are among us
Aliens Next Gen


“So what’s your reading on this?” the third regular asked, as the first regular, zoo partisan, stepped slowly and purposefully off his stool and removed his coat.

“Their feet are different,” the second regular explained. “On accounta they’re aliens. Human feet won’t fit into those shoes.”

Donald E. Westlake
From: “Drowned Hopes - A Dortumunder Novel” (Mysterious Press, 1990)



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