Thursday, September 17, 2015


'Put down the slate and put down the phone, there's
nothing in here but Mylanta.' Those were the first words
I heard after entering Phalenia's apartment  -  a two-level
bromide on the upper east- side. She was Greek, and her
apparent last boyfriend was still nosing around her bathroom
cabinet looking for something to solve his woes. Booze and
heartburn. I was hoping he'd find olives and go home.
It never happened that way  -  he stayed too long and got
too drunk and I did finally have to punch him to get him to 
leave. It was three hours later, and he'd been smelling like
a skunk. Phalenia thanked me for that, and then she just sat
down and peeled off her shirt. 'I'd like to relax now, if you
don't mind.' I said back, 'Mind? I was just thinking the same.'
Two days later I was apparently still there and as tired as a
hammered mouse still watching the trap. My new disease, I'd 
found out, was to be called something liked 'coitus neverendus.'
I too out my notebook by the end of day two and started writing.
'You still use pen and paper, you animal you!' I tried explaining
how I really do work on laptops, but I was again afraid she
misunderstand and just put me back to work.

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