So I got in my car and I wondered why it wasn''t running and then I realized I didn''t have any keys. So I went in the house, found my keys, came back out, started the car, and drove down the highway.

The highway shimmered like black incense on the bald head of a Buddhist monk. I drove down the highway and I got to that big city of Miami. The steaming, seedy city - the city that''s so seedy, the have trees there. Well I went into the nearest hotel and I went up to the door and I said, "I''d like a room." Then I realized I was outside and I had to go inside. So I went inside and I walked up to the desk and I said, "I''d like a room, please."

They said allright, and they gave me a key. Then I turned around, and there waiting for me was the Concierge.

Concierge! (repeated many times)

Well he looked at me, then I looked at him, then he looked back at me, and then I took a putty knife and I rubbed it against his cheeks in a very provocative way. And he turned around and said, "Follow me."

So I followed him up the stairs. I went to my room. He opened the door for me, and then he hit me in the back of the head with a big silver shovel. I said, "What''s that about?"

He said, "You get it free with the room." Who was I to argue?

And I went in. My whole room was covered with soap. Little soaps, all over the room, everywhere! In the bed, on the ceiling, everywhere! I said, "What''s with the soap?"

And he says, "What, you don''t like soap?"

I said, "No, I''ll take it, thanks."

He left the room, and then gave me a stare that almost turned my blood to blood. Anyway, I lay down on the bed, and it was a hot day so I was tossing and turning, and tossing and turning. And then the soap started to lather up and lather up! And I was gonna die! I was gonna suffocate! So I called the front desk, and they sent up the Concierge!

Concierge! (repeated many times)

Well he looked at me up and down, and he looked at me like I was four pounds of shit in a two- pound bag. And I looked back at him like he was four pounds of shit in a four-pound bag. And then he looked at me like I was six pounds of shit in a pound-and-a-half-bag. And I looked at him like he was 18 kilograms of shit in a thimble. And then I stabbed him in the face. And then he bit my head off and put it in a bag. And that''s when I fell in love with the Concierge.

Concierge! (repeated many times)

Now we live in a small beach house on a small beach on Long Island - it''s a long, small island, but I love it well. And he loves me well. And sometimes we take a trip down the highway that''s glistening like a Buddhist monk with incense ablaze, and we think of the day we first met - me, and the Concierge.

Concierge...