Snowden to the classified desk on the first floor.
Bobby parted with, "Don't wait up for me," managing a wink before succumbing to another fit of coughing, pausing on the long
wooden stairway as others quickly went around him.
The clerk behind the counter seemed ecstatic to see Snowden, looked so relieved to have a break in the monotony of the otherwise
empty room, its dust, its faded furniture. The guy didn't even take his money, he held it for a moment, yes, but then when
he read the copy he smiled and nodded as if he'd been the target of a harmless joke and handed it back. Piper Goines stood
in the room behind him, looking good like that. Snowden smiled, she smiled back, remembered him and came over.
"Excuse me," she said. "Does that guy Robert M. Finley still work with you? Because I've been getting these calls on my phone
from Robert M. Finley ever since I moved in, he doesn't even leave messages anymore, he just keeps calling and then hanging
up on my machine."
Bobby was upstairs leaving Ms. Goines a surprise. Snowden was downstairs, trying to convince Ms. Goines to associate the word persistent with the name "Bobby Finley" instead of the word psychopath, not making any headway with his argument until Piper realized that Bobby was the one who looked like a human snow crab and
not the creepy one with a head like a rottweiler.
"Bobby's a really smart guy, funny. It's just that we're not from here, we work a lot, he was just trying to reach out. We're
from out of town, don't really know anybody in the area, you know how it is. He's good people. He gave you his book, right?"
"That's right, that's right. Actually, I tried to read that thing but couldn't get past the first page. It didn't seem to
make any sense, like there'd been misprints or something. I probably just didn't read it close enough," Piper was the one
making the guilty face now. Snowden nodded at this like a mistake had indeed been made, staring at her, trying to think of
a way to tell her that the man they were talking about was at this moment at her desk. Piper watched as Snowden struggled
to say something and got tired of waiting.
"So you don't know anyone. You kind of know me," Piper told him. "You've already been to my place, you might as well come
back over and we can have dinner sometime. I'm on my way to Ephesus to cover the protest meeting about the Mumia Abu-Jamal
Memorial Halfway House, the one the state's trying to open by Mount Morris Park, but there's tomorrow."
"Memorial House? Mumia Abu-Jamal hasn't even been executed yet."
"I know! Sick bastards."
In moral law, there was definitely an edict about dating your friend's obsession.
"If you're worried about your buddy, I'm sure he's a nice guy, but I'm never going out with him. That just ain't happening."
Snowden appreciated Piper's plucky initiative, her persistence. It meant that every time he felt a pang of guilt for accepting
her invitation he could tell himself he'd been forced into doing so, take some of the bite out of it.
PIPER GOINES SPEAKS
THE THING THAT really pissed Piper off about living in the apartment above her sister and brother-in-law was that she had
to walk through three floors of their home to get to hers, and even though she loved them they were materially driven intentional
archetypes of the bourgeoisie, something Piper once even said to their faces months before their wedding only to have them
high-five gleefully in response, dancing circles together in their boutique clothes as they waved their status symbol watches
in the air in victory. Their home was a museum of all the class accoutrements they'd collected in just seven years working
as a tag team: rich woods, fabrics, and leathers placed on rugs so expensive that having them on the floor was indulgent insolence.
Piper kept redecorating but it didn't matter, by the time she reached the top floor her home seemed a slave quarters in comparison.
They were like twins,
Bobby parted with, "Don't wait up for me," managing a wink before succumbing to another fit of coughing, pausing on the long
wooden stairway as others quickly went around him.
The clerk behind the counter seemed ecstatic to see Snowden, looked so relieved to have a break in the monotony of the otherwise
empty room, its dust, its faded furniture. The guy didn't even take his money, he held it for a moment, yes, but then when
he read the copy he smiled and nodded as if he'd been the target of a harmless joke and handed it back. Piper Goines stood
in the room behind him, looking good like that. Snowden smiled, she smiled back, remembered him and came over.
"Excuse me," she said. "Does that guy Robert M. Finley still work with you? Because I've been getting these calls on my phone
from Robert M. Finley ever since I moved in, he doesn't even leave messages anymore, he just keeps calling and then hanging
up on my machine."
Bobby was upstairs leaving Ms. Goines a surprise. Snowden was downstairs, trying to convince Ms. Goines to associate the word persistent with the name "Bobby Finley" instead of the word psychopath, not making any headway with his argument until Piper realized that Bobby was the one who looked like a human snow crab and
not the creepy one with a head like a rottweiler.
"Bobby's a really smart guy, funny. It's just that we're not from here, we work a lot, he was just trying to reach out. We're
from out of town, don't really know anybody in the area, you know how it is. He's good people. He gave you his book, right?"
"That's right, that's right. Actually, I tried to read that thing but couldn't get past the first page. It didn't seem to
make any sense, like there'd been misprints or something. I probably just didn't read it close enough," Piper was the one
making the guilty face now. Snowden nodded at this like a mistake had indeed been made, staring at her, trying to think of
a way to tell her that the man they were talking about was at this moment at her desk. Piper watched as Snowden struggled
to say something and got tired of waiting.
"So you don't know anyone. You kind of know me," Piper told him. "You've already been to my place, you might as well come
back over and we can have dinner sometime. I'm on my way to Ephesus to cover the protest meeting about the Mumia Abu-Jamal
Memorial Halfway House, the one the state's trying to open by Mount Morris Park, but there's tomorrow."
"Memorial House? Mumia Abu-Jamal hasn't even been executed yet."
"I know! Sick bastards."
In moral law, there was definitely an edict about dating your friend's obsession.
"If you're worried about your buddy, I'm sure he's a nice guy, but I'm never going out with him. That just ain't happening."
Snowden appreciated Piper's plucky initiative, her persistence. It meant that every time he felt a pang of guilt for accepting
her invitation he could tell himself he'd been forced into doing so, take some of the bite out of it.
PIPER GOINES SPEAKS
THE THING THAT really pissed Piper off about living in the apartment above her sister and brother-in-law was that she had
to walk through three floors of their home to get to hers, and even though she loved them they were materially driven intentional
archetypes of the bourgeoisie, something Piper once even said to their faces months before their wedding only to have them
high-five gleefully in response, dancing circles together in their boutique clothes as they waved their status symbol watches
in the air in victory. Their home was a museum of all the class accoutrements they'd collected in just seven years working
as a tag team: rich woods, fabrics, and leathers placed on rugs so expensive that having them on the floor was indulgent insolence.
Piper kept redecorating but it didn't matter, by the time she reached the top floor her home seemed a slave quarters in comparison.
They were like twins,
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