unbuttoned swaths of clothing and released astonishing torrents of scents that fractured the air. Shock was first to appear in the bespectacled lady’s eyes, followed instantaneously by horror, then terror. She looked toward me, her mouth and eyebrows questioning,surely eager to commiserate, and I wanted to tell her to give herself a second or two and she wouldn’t smell anything, that it was the human condition to become inured to even the most intense suffering.
My cell phone vibrated with Odette’s text saying she didn’t believe me, if I were home, why did I ask her to look after Behemoth for three days, I was a big fat liar, and Satan harrumphed, And you call me the father of lies, you say that all my promises are delusions belched from the bowels of Hell, but whose pants are on fire, huh, whose?
The bespectacled lady stared at me, no longer reproving, but she still didn’t seem to have adjusted to the miasmic smell. I told her in a conspiratorial whisper that it could be worse, and when she mouthed a questioning How, I said the clinic could be piping in Kenny G. She snorted, swiveled her head to see if the irritated man was paying attention, and then she smiled, which shifted her beautifully expressive face, every wrinkle could have regaled the world with a story.
Ferrigno returned and nodded at the irritated man, who stood up ever so slowly, the bottom of his sweatshirt did not cover his stomach. His aroma dawdled in the air while Ferrigno seemed utterly unfazed. Before exiting the room, the irritated man told his hand, The carpet crawlers heed their callers, and the bespectacled lady and I looked at each other, delighted, and without missing a beat we sang, We’ve got to get in to get out, extending the last word to six syllables—
aa-ha-aaaa-ha-ha-out
—as Peter Gabriel did in the original.
The bespectacled lady couldn’t be too much older than I if she approved of early Genesis. That was the worst smellever, I almost suffocated, she said, no longer any need for whispering, and she began to rummage through the boat-sized pink handbag on her lap.
I texted Odette, Don’t worry about me, I’m going on a three-day rest-and-recreation off-the-grid vacation, should be fun, come in and feed Behemoth and clean his litter box while I’m gone. Your stupidity defies comprehension, Satan said, do you think you’ll be resting and recreating in an insane asylum, if you think waterboarding is torture wait till you try art therapy. That was how I got rid of you the last time, I said, not aloud thankfully.
I saw Genesis, I must show you, the bespectacled lady said as she unpursed all kinds of small papers with surprising earnestness: green, blue, brown, white, white, white, white, yellow, hundreds of them. Ferrigno could not have searched her as he did me, probably no one had, I felt sorry for the big guy for having to be in the same room as the irritated man. I wondered what those pieces of paper were but couldn’t see clearly. Ticket stubs, Satan told me, and he was right, for a change. Kiss my butt, he said, I’m always right, you just never listen. She took out a small tube brush, she might need it because her hair had decided to distribute itself strangely during the handbag search, she placed the brush on the chair to her right, my left, took out a sizable wallet, snapped it open for a quick perusal, then shut it, placed it above the stubs on the chair to her left, I can’t find anything when I need it, she said. I told her I had the same problem, her assiduousness disturbing me.
She took out a cheap click pen, two colors, blue and red, glanced around but could not decide where it should be deposited. Hold this, please, she said, and handed it tome across the separating space. I held it—held it in my trembling hand, I hadn’t seen one of those in years, a relic of a time long past, my heart did a five-over-four beat, take five. Satan beamed, The poet gets his pen, he said, is this your doing,
My cell phone vibrated with Odette’s text saying she didn’t believe me, if I were home, why did I ask her to look after Behemoth for three days, I was a big fat liar, and Satan harrumphed, And you call me the father of lies, you say that all my promises are delusions belched from the bowels of Hell, but whose pants are on fire, huh, whose?
The bespectacled lady stared at me, no longer reproving, but she still didn’t seem to have adjusted to the miasmic smell. I told her in a conspiratorial whisper that it could be worse, and when she mouthed a questioning How, I said the clinic could be piping in Kenny G. She snorted, swiveled her head to see if the irritated man was paying attention, and then she smiled, which shifted her beautifully expressive face, every wrinkle could have regaled the world with a story.
Ferrigno returned and nodded at the irritated man, who stood up ever so slowly, the bottom of his sweatshirt did not cover his stomach. His aroma dawdled in the air while Ferrigno seemed utterly unfazed. Before exiting the room, the irritated man told his hand, The carpet crawlers heed their callers, and the bespectacled lady and I looked at each other, delighted, and without missing a beat we sang, We’ve got to get in to get out, extending the last word to six syllables—
aa-ha-aaaa-ha-ha-out
—as Peter Gabriel did in the original.
The bespectacled lady couldn’t be too much older than I if she approved of early Genesis. That was the worst smellever, I almost suffocated, she said, no longer any need for whispering, and she began to rummage through the boat-sized pink handbag on her lap.
I texted Odette, Don’t worry about me, I’m going on a three-day rest-and-recreation off-the-grid vacation, should be fun, come in and feed Behemoth and clean his litter box while I’m gone. Your stupidity defies comprehension, Satan said, do you think you’ll be resting and recreating in an insane asylum, if you think waterboarding is torture wait till you try art therapy. That was how I got rid of you the last time, I said, not aloud thankfully.
I saw Genesis, I must show you, the bespectacled lady said as she unpursed all kinds of small papers with surprising earnestness: green, blue, brown, white, white, white, white, yellow, hundreds of them. Ferrigno could not have searched her as he did me, probably no one had, I felt sorry for the big guy for having to be in the same room as the irritated man. I wondered what those pieces of paper were but couldn’t see clearly. Ticket stubs, Satan told me, and he was right, for a change. Kiss my butt, he said, I’m always right, you just never listen. She took out a small tube brush, she might need it because her hair had decided to distribute itself strangely during the handbag search, she placed the brush on the chair to her right, my left, took out a sizable wallet, snapped it open for a quick perusal, then shut it, placed it above the stubs on the chair to her left, I can’t find anything when I need it, she said. I told her I had the same problem, her assiduousness disturbing me.
She took out a cheap click pen, two colors, blue and red, glanced around but could not decide where it should be deposited. Hold this, please, she said, and handed it tome across the separating space. I held it—held it in my trembling hand, I hadn’t seen one of those in years, a relic of a time long past, my heart did a five-over-four beat, take five. Satan beamed, The poet gets his pen, he said, is this your doing,
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