She looked at me as if I was deaf. I looked at her as if I were.
– Can I have two pairs of skin coulotte ays?
– Can I have two pairs of skin cut lattes?”
Then her friend translated from the ancient Greek.
– Tights, please.
I still have no idea what she was saying, even working backwards. Sometimes someone points something out and it all makes sense. I still hear “silk cut latkes”.
Last night in the Royal Canal in Drumcondra, mere STEPS from my place, a body was fished out of the river, wrapped in twine, stuffed into a black nylon suitcase. It was retrieved by two locals from the canal at 7:00 last night – two hours before I went home.
This morning on the stone steps leading down into the Liffey and abused woman’s body was found. It was on the steps leading down from the bank right in front of the Customs House. Mere STEPS from work. At 6AM – two hours before I was due at work. Spooky.
I justify my days, these precious irretrievable moments of my life, in the bondage of boredom by reminding myself that this is the best possible job I could get. Is that true? Is this really the best job I could get? Give me strength. What a sad place I’ve slipped to. THIS is the BEST job that I could hope to get.