Verbatim 23 february 2000
A Managers Plea
Setting: a café, nightfall. A Wednesday
Norm: Jordan, I need to talk to you for a minute before you go.
Jordan: (looks out window, wipes hands) Uh, sure, whats up?
Jonah: See, Jor, Norm and I have noticed that whenever your shift ends, all of our power tools are out of place and videos have been disappearing.
Norm: And, um, you leave used toothpicks by the cash register.
The Lady Walking By:
Say why does that guy hold a chainsaw behind his back? Its a nice one too, ST1HL-026. Hmmm.
Husband of Lady Walking By:
Now, Beulah, whenever you get that look in your eye I wind up having to fend you off with my cattle prod
Norm: The thing is the point, I mean integrity. Small change adds up. As a warning, the weak usually end up squished, and honestly deep-down, Jordan, I like you. You never return my phone calls.
Jordan: Okay, Norm. if I called you, if I tried, Id find that your phone doesnt work, because it never does. Integrity doesnt mean anything if you cant communicate it to anyone. Since youre wise to the small change and chainsaws, Ill stop, okay, Ill stop.
Norm had watched the young plump girl with her hand over her nose for the past 45 minutes. She seemed sheepish and had only gotten a third ways down her cup, 10 years old probably at the highest. She waved to someones back through the window, who never turned around. She waved again and put her hand down over the welt on her nose, and touched it like she was wondering how it felt. She pulled the seams straight on her shirt and saw Norm.
Then very quickly, before the look of recognition could spread to her mouth to form a smile or even a silent "What do you think youre looking at" the plump young girl glanced back at the tabletop. Her knee invisibly rocked the tables center support so that it looked like her glance had struck and tipped over her cup. The spill quickly ran over the old wood. Now she didnt know where to put her hands.
Parrot: (imitated sound of a phone ringing) Answer, answer yourself Norm.
Norm leaned in after three steps and pinched her cheeks, which seemed to loosen her eyes. The girl didnt look resentfully back at him. She seemed less conscious of her nose as she pressed her hands against her cheeks, and looked at him with a little trust, a little question, a little fearful dip of her irises.
Norm remembered that day as a young teenager, when hed gone hunting with his friend
Norm shifted his weight against the hull and watched for seals without his scope. When he looked west he saw a big bank of clouds and when he looked south there was only sun and three colors of water. If he looked out past the stern he could still see the white stretch of town on the shore.
Denny tugged on Norms parka. "Im hungry," he said, "and bored. This is boring."
An uneven wind sifted through the boys bangs. It would be a miles walk back to their home, made long by the weight of the bludgeoned animal shared between them. But the fields showed no sign that moment would come any time soon.
Suddenly, an eight-pound moss of tumbleweed rolled by and rammed its thorny edge into Dennys calf, sending him reeling in agony.
"Beautiful," the other one secretly thought, "more blood for me." He had been running out of the color red, and back home the sunset was only half-painted on his wall.
Denny let out a muffled groan. "You keep the deer, Norm," he whispered, "if we ever get one thats not so heavy. This tumbleweed has got the best of me, Im afraid, uhhh "
Norm reached for Dennys arm, and then his ankle, but it was too late. He was still attached to the tumbleweed, and the tumbleweed was continuing its wind-powered course down the rutted road. All that remained of him was that jumbled trail of articles from his pockets a hand-crafted whistle, a flotation device, some corn, and a key labeled "B.S."
It was then that Norm considered buying his eight-person inflatable raft. He put the key in his mouth and it tasted salty. A short shudder of mourning quickly passed and he leapt toward the car. Good thing he had parked right off the I-5. there might not have been much game wandering the Central Valley, but now he could drive straight home at 95 mph. He might even get the raft on the way.
Eight-Person Inflatable Raft Halts the MUNI
Norm: I wont comment further until my lawyer arrives.
I think thats him in the white tee-shirt and an umbrella.
My kid has always been a good kid, and when I ask him if hes been to the store or not he never lies. Hell tell the truth if he went out and got some chips or not. Although I cant deny he wore a white shirt out of our home, the fact that he holds an umbrella does not nab him, necessarily, Peanut-Breath. Its been raining for days and we are all sick of it.
Well, maam, we are. But Im still going to have to hold him here until we settle this matter.
I predict youre about to hold your tongue or you might get called something under my breath that would shame you and that tight little badge of yours. My kidll tell me the truth. I raised him. When his aunt Mrs. N. found her bowl of almonds depleted he stood up like a fine young Mr. Isnt that right? He always carries an umbrella but it doesnt make him a criminal. Whatre you looking at?
Sorry Im late, my bowling match ran overtime
Norm: That balloon above the telephone wires. Im tired of everybodys confessions.
Why doesnt someone remove the raft from the tracks?
Sordid Polemic of the Good, Naughty & Moodless
Norm: well, thats got to be it! Its the only bank in town we havent tried. And Im beginning to feel like I know exactly whats in that safebox.
Stanch: tut-tut, not so fast hombre; a deal is a deal, and I havent had my ice cream yet.
Norm: always hesitating. Im thinking Im gonna ditch you. I shouldve gone to another country anyway.
Stanch: watch it or Im gonna take you up on that not-so idle threat, you bum. How could you know whats in the box?
Norm: cause Lucy was always hinting around about her Uncle Charlies National Geographic collection. Besides, lets just go and see.
Bell-Jar: Norm? Is that you? You look so pallid! How are you? I havent seen you since we well, hello
Cyril: Dont "hello" me, wheres my thirty seven bucks?!
Bell-Jar: Where are my gloves?
Norm: Lady, forget the gloves. Hey, Stanch, you remember the, uh, stuff I got from the café?
(A pretend explosion furrows from the core of the city-scape. Fade to a slow white movement of something: is it snow? Is it static? Is it pollution?)
Cinema seam seeds my
Misty highway nostrils
When I hem inward
While Temina waits
Lord, hear ye,
Dimes and then
cant fix me
lock pock sorrel
armpits damp my
you want. Whenever
slay my ample
hovering tenderly over
sweetly. Like spice
against love and
Beatles wheezing in a cyclone of cologne
stop thinking! Mosby! Tsarina! Drop
it now, skiff along the trough
and accrue firearms droopy with disuse.
O, Profusion! Hello to Honolulu! Heya big-lug
suck punks. Jim Beam whiling maddeningly
slinging spit bomb lung-shards at sharks.
Pooling hurdy-gurdy contrabend, we spun!
Were nimble however blond, from Bloomsburg
par avion. Abundantly jeweled. Kudos? Surely,
lewd and ultra-veloured firefighters avoid
spandex. Wife-like Q-Tips excite them
into a stalled stupor. You want some?
Etienne, skip punch, suck gompering fixation,
trump sunny poprocket. Bunk weekly in Barbados.
Tirades against Triump TR7s exhaust punched wowzers.
something to disdain
or embrace. Therefore,
in Senegal and San Francisco
dumbbells dangle precariously.
Looming largely, muscle laden cub-scouts
mountain tops, whistles, preparedness, astute elfins
gorging their chops with turpentine and orange bergamot.
Earl Grey mornings in-country rims eyelids.
Circuitry, illicit fluids electrocute them.
Cook foolery (Steve, leave that) (lie) again.
Isnt it bibbed? Tangiers bible laced with blood.
Incendiary contingent made firm.
Loose-lipped tangerines peeled slowly.
Henry V, finish peas.
ed. III 1979s dawn Treader post-combustible whirligig
seamlessly stitched before
two azul ankles.
Music fills my 73 Nova. I
was shakin shoes exuding
yuppie smell displacing dampness,
loafers sick with Sharons witness
with gumption and
hoops, darken these mines,
except within caves dampened
and sorely sheepish, pink pink sand sinks quickly toward
for you, sunsets please
my putrid downtown whump;
worldly other-matron liaison
disciples heaving rotated
if you only increase mileage while thumping
than Boise, Idaho with
your pimply drip
drains skyward pinkly.
Tallow dripped aplomb murky eyeballs sink
into guised hyperbole
wonder why? Gonna sneak around
the globe, mama. Top this with that!
Going off randomly, score boards stop
the guillotine, strip joints, make
pro-bono figurines sing out,
samba trombone Michelangelo
foresting Dr. Rockridges rodeo trophies.
Leaky pipes. Drano.
Onto 36, I shift into drizzle,
peeling pith of imaginationary
lights as issues; scenarios missiles
shant stilt outwardly glances
Likenesses thwarted dinner plans
Chummy deathwish fennel. Hopeless
dishwash-water, the fennel
a lukewarm penitence, not yet enough.
Denver omelet well done. Danger zone.