Our two ex-Bernistes have managed to find a table outside, overlooking the river and are contemplating the early evening reflecting on the water.
Cheers, says our commuter, as he dips his lips into his beer.
And to you, replies our city dweller, dropping an olive pit on a saucer. Tastes his caprinha.
So. You’re really going to leave, huh?
Yup. Got just enough work to carry me through the election, and I’ve got a renter set to move in at the new year. One of my old clients, actually. He just happened to call this morning on a little slam dunk project. When I told him that’d be my last, he got curious, so I told him I was going to take some time off. He asked me what I was going to do with the apartment. Discreet kind of guy, so we didn’t go into details of the why and where. He’s getting a divorce, no kids, so it’s perfect for both of us. Can’t believe my luck on that one!
No shit! So you’ll have some walking around money. Nice … Have any idea where you’re going to live?
Nah, not really. Did a couple of quick searches. I’m leaning towards the sunset side, the windward side. Depends. The advantage is I’ll have time to look around. Called my uncle, who got all excited and whatnot, and said he was going to start looking around in Sciacca. That was pretty cool. Even though it’s on the south coast. Who knows what he’ll come up with!
So you’re really going to do it, huh? I can’t believe it! Just like that! Up and go? He lips his beer. I mean, I think about vacations and stuff. Even though it’s sometimes a pain …
I wouldn’t know. But I can imagine, kind of. And no, it’s not just ‘up and go’. It might look like that, but once you’ve been out of the country a few times, it kind of changes the way you look at stuff. It’s not like I just had a revelation or something. It’s more like it was something simmering in the back of my mind, and this whole election thing, this time, made me turn around and go back into the kitchen and lift the lid off a sauce you made and smelling it, and this time, it smelled just right. Something like that.
Whoa! You’re getting pretty poetic there, man! Plus, you’re making me hungry, what with your sauces and all.
Yeah. Well. There’s kind of problem with that image. This whole campaign thing was like some kind of sauce that went bad. Like something you left in the fridge too long and when you pull it out, it’s all mossy-looking and really stinks, you know? You know it’s your own fault. You didn’t plan. You didn’t follow through, or whatever. It ends up in the trash. It’s a waste. He tips his caprinha. Like you’re not paying attention to stuff.
I’m a little less hungry now. What with your mossy sauce and everything. He laughs and takes a long pull on his beer.
No. Seriously. I might be getting carried away with the cooking stuff, but that kind of happens sometimes when you live alone. Plus, I happen to like screwing around in the kitchen. Gives me things to think about, you know?
Not really. I call up and have it delivered for lunch and by the time I get home, he looks at his watch, it’s already done. I don’t cook anything that can’t be put on the barbecue … Anyway …
Yeah, anyway. Caprinha tip. You made your mind up yet, about the election, I mean?
Well, after our own shit show, I think I’m going to vote Stein, too. By the way, did you see that article on ZeroHedge? About the paid hands at the convention?
Yeah, I did, in fact. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me. Whether it’s true or not. The whole thing’s been scripted. The whole thing’s totally corrupt. That’s what I meant about being played like a trout. When you take a look back, I mean, once you start looking at things from the outside, from a different perspective, on the one hand, it’s refreshing, it’s like going outside at a party, you know, to get a breath of fresh air. Then, on the other hand, you look back in through the windows and see everybody yakking away, the guys ogling some chick’s tits, the women obviously wondering about how some guy’s in bed or whatever. I mean, you’re out there, looking back in, and you’re wondering how you got caught up in all that. And that, my friend, is pretty fucking depressing, when you think about it. When you can see yourself back in there, yakking away, just like all the others.
What? You’re going antisocial? Come on, man, a party is a party! It’s for having fun! We don’t have to be serious all the time!
Yeah, yeah. I hear you. It was just an image I flashed on. But these conventions are more like a predator party than anything else. A kind of mass hysteria. And when there’s a hint that they’re actually paying people to be hysterical, I mean, that is definitely not fun. It’s grotesque, obscene. Just like that bloated … pantsuit queen. Ah, Jesus, now I’ve got an Abba earworm going! He grabs his head, laughing and grimacing.
Abba? Earworms? How many of those have you had?
Still laughing. Don’t worry, it’s only the first one, but I think I’ll have another. You want to stay for dinner? Still laughing. It’s on me.