Astor. Thankfully, I am here every day to take care of him.
Meanwhile, let's get back to nonsense, and her name was Sweetie.
I inherited Sweetie from a boyfriend in New York. She was a mess. She liked drugs, alcohol, and cheap boys. I felt obligated to look over her. I bailed her out of more messes than a normal human could. Sometimes it was a "rough position" in Stuyvesant Part and others in a back room. Still, I loved (and love) my Sweetie daughter; she didn't know what she was doing some of the time and did most.
When I took this photo of her in the the glamorous Thompkins Square park, she said something to the the effect of: "Work? What do you mean? You slave all day from nine to five. Whatever you earn, goes to taxes. Why should I work?"
That was, and is, my Sweetie (although her father left her a long time ago.) Sweetie worked her way up to the travel agent of the stars. Only in New York.