Tim Rogers is not a nice person. He delights in hurting people by making fun of them. But I know his kind, and they don’t stay around long. You see, my assessment of Timmy comes from years of experience–I’m older than his mom–and I’ve know many “Timmys.” And, for the record, they were men, and, yes, some of them are notches on my belt and disprove whatever lesbian photo he claims to have. But that’s another long, and very expensive, story. Anyway, our Timmy is one self-indulgent, liquor-ridden egomaniac who reminds me of the Wizard of Oz. Once you pull back his curtains (gross!) you see a scared 30-something guy with a mortgage, a drinking problem, a wife who is scared of hail, and a bleak future filled with cardigan sweaters. In 20 years, I know I will be sitting on a beach somewhere with someone fabulous and Timmy will be sitting at his desk at D, under his Met poster, writing a story about his favorite subject: Tim.