MADAME CARLISLE READS
And I don't know the rest of that story. The flowers
were fresh like a funeral. You know how they pile up,
all fragrant and lonesome, the eerie feeling you get
when death smells so pretty. I never knew why they
did that except to mask the scent of the deceased.
I got a check for ninety dollars. It was for something
I did at the pile-driver's station in Red Bank, New
Jersey. Three months wait isn't worth the wait.
Know what I mean? If I got the money right away,
that would have been fine. But if, on the other
hand, I'd have know I'd wait three months, I
would have asked for more.
Anyway. Sometimes you get paid for waiting,
and other times you just wait. The Admiral's
Schooner was like that. I couldn't tell what it
really was, bar, or restaurant. I hate that. A
place should have to decide - be one or the
other, please, and I'd know how to act.
The gypsy fortune teller lady she told me there'd
be a bad fortune coming my way pretty soon.
Cheesy bitch. What's that mean, bad fortune?
The opposite of good? Or just a fortune no
matter, but one that would do me bad? These
red-kerchiefed gypsy ladies kill me. Why can't
they just come right out and say something
straight? Mystery blows. I told her that.
There was a mystical blue ring on her middle
finger, quite large. I became enchanted, and felt
it sang of wonder and awe to me. But all she turned
out to be was a hag with a nag for a shadow. Now,
now, the cat's out to play, and the mice run away.
All this life is but sorrow.