I was told to update. Be specific.
I sat there listening to Bela Fleck's solo 3 minutes into Let Me Be The One on the Left of Cool Album. I know stenographers who can't move their fingers that fast. I wondered if I would ever be that good. Probably not, I'm too devoted to other things. Mostly free lance work, but occasional steady employment, if that makes any sense.
There's something about the waltz that just seems so natural. I never write tunes in 4/4 time, even if I mean too. It ends up in 3/4. Ah well, such is life. I think Aristotle was the one who said, "Life's a bitch, then you die." Maybe Socrates. All I know is that my clients couldn't agree more. See, my practice is a bit unorthodox. They caught some nut job a few years ago for doing the same thing I do. The difference? He was a little too inconspicuous.
I assist people in suicide. That means I help them kill themselves. But I suppose the difference between my version and that other guy is that my way is technically murder.
"Do you know what it's like to be me?" this new dame asked rhetorically.
"Rhetoric! One-Love!" I said.
"Tom, I'm serious!" she said seriously.
"Oh, then I believe my answer would have to be no.
"Nobody does."
"Well if you knew that already why are you wasting my time with these questions? Look, babe, don't come into this office and pull that melodramatic bull with me. If I want melodrama I'll go visit my sister at Bennington."
"Is it so wrong?"
"No, just obnoxious. Look, I have other clients I could be working with right now. What's your problem?"
"I've lost the will to live." She gazed ponderously out the window. She was obviously making a great effort to maintain her "profound" mood. She was desperate for attention, and I would have been glad to give it to her, but business is business and I needed to eat before I needed a tall blond in a red business jacket and matching blouse. I loved that look. And the broad-brimmed hat only made it worse for me.
"So how would you like it?" The answer could have gone two ways. I was ready for both, but she went the more serious route. Of course. Why do I even bother? I sat in the green leather chair with the brass studs. I liked that chair. Something about it always made me think of those dogs playing poker. I always wondered why they didn't play anything more stimulating, like Hover Ball.
"When I least expect it." I discreetly unlocked a drawer in the desk. I was pretty sure it had a left over sandwich in there, but it had been a while so I may have eaten it.
"Time limit?" I said as I pulled the drawer open.
"Within the next two weeks, starting tomorrow." I reached my hand into the drawer
"Ah, well then you'll be expecting it, won't you?" I felt what it was I wanted.
"Are you kidding? With my hectic schedule I doubt I'll remember." I stopped. Who doesn't remember a meeting like this?
"Are you kidding? Who doesn't remember a meeting like this?"
"Just get me when I don't see it coming, and soon."
That was all the cue I needed. I maintained eye contact, silently saying, "I want you, but oh well," with my eyes. As I did this I grabbed what I had been reaching for, pulled it out, aimed it, and a split second later she had a poison dart in her neck.
I didn't spend 5 years living with Pygmies to use guns. Where's the fun in that?
There's something about the waltz that just seems so natural. I never write tunes in 4/4 time, even if I mean too. It ends up in 3/4. Ah well, such is life. I think Aristotle was the one who said, "Life's a bitch, then you die." Maybe Socrates. All I know is that my clients couldn't agree more. See, my practice is a bit unorthodox. They caught some nut job a few years ago for doing the same thing I do. The difference? He was a little too inconspicuous.
I assist people in suicide. That means I help them kill themselves. But I suppose the difference between my version and that other guy is that my way is technically murder.
"Do you know what it's like to be me?" this new dame asked rhetorically.
"Rhetoric! One-Love!" I said.
"Tom, I'm serious!" she said seriously.
"Oh, then I believe my answer would have to be no.
"Nobody does."
"Well if you knew that already why are you wasting my time with these questions? Look, babe, don't come into this office and pull that melodramatic bull with me. If I want melodrama I'll go visit my sister at Bennington."
"Is it so wrong?"
"No, just obnoxious. Look, I have other clients I could be working with right now. What's your problem?"
"I've lost the will to live." She gazed ponderously out the window. She was obviously making a great effort to maintain her "profound" mood. She was desperate for attention, and I would have been glad to give it to her, but business is business and I needed to eat before I needed a tall blond in a red business jacket and matching blouse. I loved that look. And the broad-brimmed hat only made it worse for me.
"So how would you like it?" The answer could have gone two ways. I was ready for both, but she went the more serious route. Of course. Why do I even bother? I sat in the green leather chair with the brass studs. I liked that chair. Something about it always made me think of those dogs playing poker. I always wondered why they didn't play anything more stimulating, like Hover Ball.
"When I least expect it." I discreetly unlocked a drawer in the desk. I was pretty sure it had a left over sandwich in there, but it had been a while so I may have eaten it.
"Time limit?" I said as I pulled the drawer open.
"Within the next two weeks, starting tomorrow." I reached my hand into the drawer
"Ah, well then you'll be expecting it, won't you?" I felt what it was I wanted.
"Are you kidding? With my hectic schedule I doubt I'll remember." I stopped. Who doesn't remember a meeting like this?
"Are you kidding? Who doesn't remember a meeting like this?"
"Just get me when I don't see it coming, and soon."
That was all the cue I needed. I maintained eye contact, silently saying, "I want you, but oh well," with my eyes. As I did this I grabbed what I had been reaching for, pulled it out, aimed it, and a split second later she had a poison dart in her neck.
I didn't spend 5 years living with Pygmies to use guns. Where's the fun in that?