I WRITE WITH MY NOSE AND
I SMELL WITH MY EYES
The tickler is it's all OK; no one bothers and no
one pries. There's a lost cabinet of sureties in
Dr. Caligari's office; we'll find them surely
some day. (He puts down his cigar in the
ashtray made for pencils, and leans back
to check on the score. There's a game on
his television playing - then he gets up, to
make certain the door is closed, and he opens
the nearby drawer and takes out some secretive
matter. I have no idea what it may have been,
but it could be the material we're after). I guess
you can understand by now I'm the guy doing
surveillance for the client of note, who'd rather
remain unknown, trying to sue this guy for 7 mill
for breach of contract and depth of field. (I told
him to throw in foreknowledge too). In these
sorts of operations, everything is important, so
I watch for even the smallest detail - like where
he parks his car. Same spot each day? Suddenly
a different placement? Same car each morning?
And then it all goes into these daily reports, for
the record, and we kept a constant contact while
I'm working - laptop, texting, cellphone, even
cameras. Nothing's hardly secret anymore, and
if anything ever happens, the whole world will
know in fifteen minutes.
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