I Cannot Remember
I cannot remember now what they were asking. Was it a more cheerful rendition or something less vague, less query inducing, a world populated not so much by retired DEA agents and multi-lingual computer savvy FBI agents but instead petite Chinese ballerinas dancing on their knees across the knots of our backs? I kept offering them fresh over priced chunks of watermelon and was mostly met with disdainful indifference so it must not be organic produce they were hoping me to deliver.
Does anybody really care about my bountiful needs? Do they care that heading that list is an airy and creamy delicious pistachio cupcake which now sits inches away from me in its tissue paper lingerie giving me on an empty stomach all that come-hither I know I'm bad for you but you want me anyway noise. How loud is a cupcake? I have never seen it listed on a decibel count with those other standards--the crowded football stadium, a jet plane taking off, or your neighbor's stereo at three in the morning. I would tell that cupcake to shut up but then I would have to listen to more noise, about what a misogynistic bastard I am, how I would never talk to a cheeseburger that way.
It was only after he had left, and after I had exchanged email addresses with the friendly professor at the nearly empty bar in a semi-remote tropical mountainous region of Puerto Rico, that the bartender told Bernadette and I the recently exited "professor" was really a retired FBI agent of 32 years, who spoke five languages (including Arabic) and had a computer room at his house resembling a miniature version of a NASA control room or NORAD command post. And while the bartender mumbled Say-EE-Ah under his breath I said, gee that sounds more like CIA to me. That in profile I may look like an Arab terrorist expertly disguised as an aging beach hippie is perhaps, in this case, or all cases, unfortunate, but on the other hand, what kind of self respecting Spook would pretend to be an FBI agent pretending to be a college math/physics professor? This is all just another one of those enigmas inside a conundrum inside a pretty pickle.
I remember now, it was some fleshing out, a bit more clarity that was requested. Well I'm sorry, there is none of that. There is now only the one tissue wrapped wax paper panty wearing cupcake on the counter.
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