"They treat you pretty good here."
	"They don't really. That's the whole point is they don't really."
	"I guess." Jed didn't usually talk with his mouth full, but fatty
Russian food didn't swallow so easily.
	"You hear about Clara?"
	Jed rinsed down his food with tepid water. "No. What about her?"
	"Car accident. She got hit in front of the dentist's office."
	"Shit. Did she make it out..." He gestured vaguely.
	"She's fine. The car knocked her onto a pile of pillows."
	"Funny. Lucky."
	"Typical."
	"How about you, Chas? Is the employment car going to run you over
any time soon?"
	"I have money to pay for my own lunch, if that's what you mean. I
can't quite swing dessert, that's all."
	"No, seriously, how's that going?"
	"I'm down to my third choice, cataloguing recurrent themes in kids'
books for the Department of Education. I didn't even know there were kids
here until recently."
	"Sounds interesting."
	"Sure, to you. You were a researcher. Find any new jobs that exer-
cise your talents, or are you still mocking up blocks of flats?"
	"They all look the same."
	"Want to take your mind off it with some roulette? Or vingt-et-un?"
	"Distract yourself and you'll be here longer. Like you said, the
point is they don't treat us too well."
	"I get a lot more variety in a day here than I did when I was alive,
and that's how it's set up. You can't walk down the street without a man-
hole cover blowing off and knocking a bag out of your hands. I got mugged
for my socks yesterday."
	"Do you like Russian food?"
	"What?"
	"Russian food. I just asked because--sorry, I interrupted you--
because you look like you enjoy it."
	Charles fished around in his pocket for spare change. "You can get
used to anything."
	"I don't think I will. I'll be here getting my soul dry-cleaned
until they're done with me, but I won't get used to it."
	"Do what you like. I think I'm a nickel short."
	"I'll cover it."

	They walked out into the overcast morning together. Neither one of
them could hail a cab. Neither one was really going anywhere anyway.

written for dlevy 10/2/01

After running last night's gauntlet, I pulled out this relatively painless story based entirely on "fluffy purgatory". Just to be safe I threw some more literal fluffiness in (the pillows) but then left decoupage out entirely. Oops. By the way, they do call blackjack "vingt-et-un" in French, as far as I know. Apparently, purgatory is in Quebec somewhere. And there's a Soft Boys song that goes "Norman's having his soul dry-cleaned"; I didn't notice the theft until after I did it, and then when I went to double-check the lyric online, I found that Morrissey had already stolen it for "Vicar In A Tutu". That British bastard!

I guess you could look at this story as bleak, but it seems to me that inconvenience and cheap shocks are two sides of the same coin. A world where everything is inadequate but nothing is awful strikes me as ultimately liberating -- the perfect purgatory. Either you rise above it all eventually, or you stay trapped, still fearing the things that will never actually hurt you and wanting the things that will never actually turn out right.

Hmm. This one has more conceptual legs than I thought it did. Still disappointed in myself for the "decoupage" drop, though. A healthy 58-minute time doesn't quite justify it.

Edited the next day to add: I usually think it means I'm doing something right when I like a piece I wrote better upon re-reading it, and I've been giggling a little over "I got mugged for my socks" this whole afternoon.

- everything is by Aaron Mandel; please ask first if you're about to steal something -

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