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2007-08-12 23:14:33 ET I live in the old folks home. The kicker is that they don't know that I live there. I move about dressed up as one of the orderlies. Except that I dye my hair blue. The ladies love that. It reminds them of themselves and their own aesthetic tendency to lean in that contrast direction. Some people might call me a pervert for sitting in on the daily showers administered by the local nurses. But I'm not the one who set up the two-way mirror in the baths on the 14th floor and I'm not the one who poked the dual eye holes in the ceiling right next to the lamp where nobody would see a strange pair of eyeballs looking straight down. And I didn't write "Kilrouy was here" on the inside of every bathroom stall in the building. Or maybe that was me. I don't know. When I get drunk I get amnesia. Before I moved here I used to work part time at a private detective agency. No suspense thriller novel shit. Just stright out divorce cases. Follow some poor slag around with a 35mm, hand on the shutter trigger, hoping the light would be good enough for a half-blurred shot of carnal involvement. The poor mistress might be the guy's wife as sometimes happened. What, I said to the paying clients, I'm supposed to follow your spouse 24/7 till he fucks somebody. Sometimes that somebody is you. Sometimes that somebody is the bosses' wife. Sometimes that gets you fired. Sometime ago I moved into the old persons home. I live here as quiet as a mouse. They have heathere in the winter. And running water. And indoor plumbing. I think I like it here. I think I'll stay. |
