TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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05.27.03, tuesday evening
As of 5 pm today, I became employed, with a very eccentric couple, I shall call them M&N. Under the table, so hush-hush, M whispered. I would need to learn a different method of telling dates, as outlined in the employee manual. When you need to call me, he said, call this number and ask for Willie, who will write your message on a scrap of paper and put it in my mailbox. I will call you shortly thereafter.
On the stereo in the cafe where I met them, Edith Piaf warbled. A very wizened little old Jewish lady, who spoke in Hebrew to her little old man and English to her spectacled granddaughter, smiled at me throughout the interview, as if in conspiracy with me. Her turbanned head smiling so mysteriously reminded me of a photo of Isak Dinesen as an old woman, emaciated, wasted by syphillis, and very elegant. I smiled, of course, and did not betray my alarm, for although M&N are very eccentric (as it would be further revealed by the employee manual), money is money and I need money.