By Carlos (carlos.a.rubinstein@nospammci.com - remove "nospam" to email)
Date: 17 August 1997

The Fish

I was up all night.  I just couldn't get to sleep.  It was the fish.  
I hate fish!  I ate fish.  I did sleep a little, but maybe I'll tell 
you about that later.

It was the girl.  I saw her for the first time in the corner store, 
and I couldn't believe it, but I was following her around.  She bought
some slald, milk, coffee, you know.  And fish.

I hate fish.

I followed her to her house.  She fumbled with the grocery bag, and 
got out her keys--I couldn't believe she didn't drop anything.  I was 
trying to look like I was waiting for a bus, and I'd really have gotten 
away with it, if it hadn't been for the ice cream melting down the front 
of my pants.

I had to buy something, I mean, I couldn't just follow this girl around 
the store like her dog, right?  Okay, so I drooled.  Lots of people drool. 

She just knocked me out, I felt like I'd never seen a girl before.  As 
a matter of fact, now that I know her, it wouldn't matter if I never saw 
another girl again.  Really.  

But you probably just want to hear about the drool.  Well, there I was with 
saliva on my collar and Rainforest Crunch on my pants, pretending to wait
for a bus, pretending NOT to be watching this girl.  Lucky for me, she 
already had a dog.  One of those little yappy kind.  I heard it barking when 
she opened the door.  Yapping.  It's a good thing no bus came by, I'd 
probably have dropped dead on the spot, 'cause they never come when you're 
late for work, or need them for some other reason.

Just then she came back out.  I thought she'd noticed me loitering and was 
about to tell me to get lost, but she was just taking her dog out to pee.  
I've really got to hand it to that dog.  And when I do, it'll have plenty 
of rat poison on it.

Now I had a wet shirt, pants, AND shoes.  Consistency counts.  She came over 
to me.

She apologized.  I said it was okay, 'cause it really was.  I mean, she could 
have dropped a telephone pole on my head, and it would have been okay, just to 
hear her talk to me.  

She asked if I felt okay, because I didn't look it.  those were her words.  
I told her I thought I was okay, and it hit me then that I should get going. 
I figured discretion was the better part of valor, I was about to lose all my
discretion, and valor just doesn't take well to pity.  I turned to go, and the 
next thing I remember, I got a good taste of sidewalk.

I'll rephrase that.  I got a taste of sidewalk.  It wasn't good.

No need for her to drop telephone poles on me, when I could walk into them 
just fine by myself.  She all but carried me in.  At this point I decided if 
pity got me this far, I'd play it out as long as I could.

She pointed me to the couch, and I sat down with some dignity.  Well, I sat 
down.  She came back with an ice pack and plopped it down on the throbbing 
lump where my head used to be.  This was not the best strategy.  Until then,
the lump had not been hurting up to its full potential.

When I woke up, she was seting the table.  She said after all I'd been through, 
I had to at least let her make dinner for me.  She asked if I like fish.

I'll learn.