Once, when I refused to sleep for long periods of time, I had a neighbor named Gordon. He had a limp, but I think he faked it just for sympathy. And I wasn’t really convinced about his name, either — his mailbox read “Gordon Sumner,” which, oddly, is Sting’s real name. Gordo was a lousy neighbor. I never saw him. But I smelled him (he cooked cabbage 24/7). And I heard him. He played the flute, and that made me and my friends think, “Hey, maybe this really is Sting. He’s just laying low in a shitty walk-up, getting his wind chops and eating Rasta chow.” What a shock when I found out the truth.
It wasn’t Sting, obviously; it was just some lonely, smelly asshole shut-in with a flute. Sting prefers far finer confines — or at least he used to. He’s selling his four-bedroom, 6,600-square-foot Central Park West digs at 69th Street. Once owned by Billy Joel, the duplex was last listed for $26.5 million. Great little catch: The broker who had the listing for the last sale was former rocker rep Linda Stein, who was murdered by her own assistant in her Fifth Avenue apartment in October 2007. No bad karma there.