Fangs

WEDNESDAY — I took today off from the fisheries to finish cleaning house for Judith, for her son's visit. It won't pass the white glove test, but I don't think Judith owns any white gloves. He's her family, so he's gotta not be expecting the Hilton.

His name is Oliver. I met him when he got here tonight, and he seems like a nice college-aged kid. Kinda laconic, like I was at 20, and like I still am, especially around strangers.

Cleaning house was my entire day, and then I wrote a letter to Sarah-Katherine. I like her, dream of her often, sometimes even when I'm asleep.

♦ ♦ ♦

THURSDAY — Still don't know that woman's name, and still don't want to, but again today I worked beside the old shrew: the woman who'd tried to have poetry banned last month, and then smiled and waved at me a few days ago.

Her smiles and waving are inexplicable to me, as was her chipped demeanor toward me all day today, and I told her so. "We're enemies, lady. When you smile at me, all I see are fangs." She told me again, it was nothing personal, and she said it with a smile. That woman is chutzpah and charm, all at once, and it might work with some people but it doesn't work with me.

It's nice that the city hasn't removed Jay's poetry, but this woman tried to have Jay's poetry removed. It'll never be as if she didn't.

That said, after the 'fangs' wisecrack, she was cordial, and I was cordial back. I even broke a twenty for her, so she could make a sale. Vendors on Telegraph watch out for each other when they can; it's a given, even for asshole vendors.

From Pathetic Life #15
Wednesday & Thursday, August 16-17, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life
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