The Manchild Chronicles

He zeroed in on a woman in her 20s. “You look like a young Whitney Houston,” he said. “Before Bobby.” And: “You won’t catch me on ‘To Catch a Predator.’ I like grown women.”

She would not look up, and he inquired if she, too, would bear his next child, even ordering one to spec: “You know our daughter. Ten pounds, 8 ounces, and she’s going to your house when she starts crying.” He told her: “Why don’t you give me some love? You treat me like Space Ghost.”

Finally, she laughed.

The night ended at the Hudson Hotel, where Mr. Morgan danced, drank and spotted a few more prospective mothers for his daughter. Somewhere along the way, he gave his book a new title: “I’m Tracy Morgan: Let Me Live.”