Saturday, January 28, 2012


The front door opens and Frank doesn’t look up.

“It smells like a salmon run in here, what have you been doing?” Ann looks into the sitting room. “How long have you been on that thing?” Frank is slouched over in his chair staring at the computer screen. “Are you still hung over?”

“Fuck this guy” he says to the computer screen. “…still?” he thinks to himself in response to her question.


“This s.o.b. wants me to buy a house.” She walks into the room and looks on the screen. There are two browser windows open. One has a picture of the state of California with all the counties shown, separated by thick black lines. In the other is a realtor’s listings for properties in the county of San Mateo. “His name is, CJ de Heer. C-J-de-He-er.” In the top corner of the screen is picture of a young man with combed hair, grinning like he doesn‘t know that he’s an ivy league wuss grinning, wearing a grey suit with a canary yellow tie.

She says, “what?” again.

“If you had a dog and you wanted it to have a middle name, what name would you pick? Monterey? Ventura? San Bernardino? Santa Barbara?”

From the kitchen there is the obnoxious clang of the garbage can lid hitting the floor. Ann rushes in, “Hey! What are you doing! Bad! Bad!” The little calico makes a b-line across the sitting room and into the bedroom carrying something in her mouth. “What did she have?”

He thinks to himself, “If its eating it I guess its cat food” but says aloud, “two point five million.” How am I supposed to have that money. What a son of a bitch.”

“Did you eat yet? Can you get that from her?” She’s tying up the garbage bag and walking out the door.

“Leftover salmon” he says but she can’t hear. He walks over to the cat on the bed who has put a piece of salmon skin on the pillow and is huddled over it half licking and half chewing. Ann closes the front door, “and why are you looking up real estate again?” He takes this question very seriously as he looks up at the cat he’s picked up over his head. He walks into the kitchen staring into the cats eyes that are looking down at him. He flicks the light switch off, on, off, on and so on, turning the cat into a kind of disco ball in his miniature strobe-lit disco. Then he takes the lid off the empty garbage can and tries to put the cat in. Its legs shoot out in all directions but he manages to get it in oblivious to all the scratches he‘s incurred. Ann had stocked the fridge with his favourite beer for his friday yesterday. He cracks one open - PapsssssstT - and sips; the cool beer tastes like carbonation, he smells the aroma of microwaved salmon lingering in the kitchen, the cats meowing, stuck inside the garbage can. “I was just weighing my options” he says.

“Just drink a beer” says Ann from the other room.

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