Paola from Italy . . . isn't

So Dogboy calls me last night at like twelve or one or something, on my cell no less, all hot and bothered. I figured he was in jail, but no, it was a real crisis.

"Paola from Italy isn't," he said, his voice distraught.

"Isn't what?"

"From Italy. Or Paola. She's Bernice from Queens. From Queens."

"I was just talking to somebody about Queens the other day," I said. "About how it's not like a status thing or a tough-guy thing, more a self-put-down - "

"Are you listening to me? I got a personal crisis here, and you're going philosophical."

"Who's Paola anyway?"

"Bernice... Remember that web site I told you about? Remember how I was having a conversation - "

"Are you talking about a porn site?"

"You are really no help in a friggin' crisis."

The line went dead. I killed the cell and went to sleep.