Son of a bitch! Who saw this coming? Not me.
One of the last things I cling to is the idea that Paul Simon, who is all of five feet and three inches tall, is a peaceful, loving man who wouldn't hurt a fly. He's an artist and a believer in the arts, not a violent, raging bitch-slapping powderkeg.
I just don't want to live in a world where Paul Simon starts spinning around a room full of knick-knacks, kicking and punching and screaming until his glands explode and start raining that crazy sweat all over everything nice.
Did he hit his first wife? Did he hit Carrie Fisher when he was married to her? What the goddamned hell is in the water in New Canaan? Steroids and Angel Dust?
Good God Almighty. The world is turned upside down.