accounts.
“You’re right,” I said to him. “As always.”
- -- -- - - -- -- - -- - - --- - --- --
I let myself in and walked down the hallway: drab, peeling wallpaper for the eye, creaky boards greeting my every step, and cigar smoke thick enough to taste. Bill’s ‘office’ was in his kitchen, where he could always be found with a greasy meal or cigar in one hand and the other on the groundtem… not that he ever seemed to do much actual work with it.
“Bill! It’s Brandon, what’s the good wo—”
His hard voice broke in from down the hallway. “Go home, Dauphin! Koreans got it.”
Bill was a lonely man well into his nineties with leather for skin and thin, unkempt hair. He had a wife and a son, once. Before I learned not to like him, we touched on the subject of family and it became obvious that it wasn’t a comfortable subject. Another of his clients once told me that Bill’s son died in some accident.
He flicked the cigar onto the ashtray but didn’t look away from the groundtem monitor.
“You should’ve just shot me a—” Cough. “Shot me a din. No need to walk all this way just—so I—” Cough. Cough. “So I could tell you to buzz off. Told ya. Koreans.” Cough.
“I keep telling you I like the exercise. Now – what – do – you – have – for – me?”
I leaned over his desk; but he still stared at his groundtem, barely acknowledging me.
“Bill,” I said, wanting to shout it.
“Nada. Zilch. Like I keep telling you, what the Indians and Mor—” Cough. “Moroccans don’t get, Korea does. Check back in two weeks.”
“You always say that. Bill, I need money. I just bought…” I closed my eyes and calmed myself. “Really, I’m begging here.”
Cough. “What part of ‘two weeks’ don’t you understand? Two. Weeks.” Cough.
“Yeah, I heard that part. I can’t wait two weeks. You’re my ‘prosperity’ agent… it’s your job to keep me employed.”
“Don’t like it? File another complaint with the state office. I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t care? This is my…”
The thought vanished from my mind, and I felt very small. For a moment, I questioned how important a few dollars really were. I questioned whether the bad economy might have been as hard
“You’re right,” I said to him. “As always.”
- -- -- - - -- -- - -- - - --- - --- --
I let myself in and walked down the hallway: drab, peeling wallpaper for the eye, creaky boards greeting my every step, and cigar smoke thick enough to taste. Bill’s ‘office’ was in his kitchen, where he could always be found with a greasy meal or cigar in one hand and the other on the groundtem… not that he ever seemed to do much actual work with it.
“Bill! It’s Brandon, what’s the good wo—”
His hard voice broke in from down the hallway. “Go home, Dauphin! Koreans got it.”
Bill was a lonely man well into his nineties with leather for skin and thin, unkempt hair. He had a wife and a son, once. Before I learned not to like him, we touched on the subject of family and it became obvious that it wasn’t a comfortable subject. Another of his clients once told me that Bill’s son died in some accident.
He flicked the cigar onto the ashtray but didn’t look away from the groundtem monitor.
“You should’ve just shot me a—” Cough. “Shot me a din. No need to walk all this way just—so I—” Cough. Cough. “So I could tell you to buzz off. Told ya. Koreans.” Cough.
“I keep telling you I like the exercise. Now – what – do – you – have – for – me?”
I leaned over his desk; but he still stared at his groundtem, barely acknowledging me.
“Bill,” I said, wanting to shout it.
“Nada. Zilch. Like I keep telling you, what the Indians and Mor—” Cough. “Moroccans don’t get, Korea does. Check back in two weeks.”
“You always say that. Bill, I need money. I just bought…” I closed my eyes and calmed myself. “Really, I’m begging here.”
Cough. “What part of ‘two weeks’ don’t you understand? Two. Weeks.” Cough.
“Yeah, I heard that part. I can’t wait two weeks. You’re my ‘prosperity’ agent… it’s your job to keep me employed.”
“Don’t like it? File another complaint with the state office. I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t care? This is my…”
The thought vanished from my mind, and I felt very small. For a moment, I questioned how important a few dollars really were. I questioned whether the bad economy might have been as hard