Friday, June 4, 2010

Catharsis 1: Portrait of the Artist by an Italian Man



So the guy is a faggot. What do you want me to say? Yeah ok you could say he's nice but what do I care for nice. I ask him what he thinks about his team winning the Grand Prix. He don't know fuck all.

One time we are both stood by the till and he tries to ask me about the World Cup. I say, what do you know about the world cup? He don't know nothing, forget about it.

This morning I tell him he's shy. He thinks for a moment and says yes, do I think that's a negative thing? Do I think that's a negative thing? This faggot don't know nothing about the city. The city breaks you, you know? Like it makes you tough like in that film Taxi Driver. I tell him you gotta get strong like the city and he says or the city can adapt itself to me. I ask him to repeat himself 'cause I don't speak fag and then I say oh yeah, that'll be a cold day in hell, because the day New York welcomes faggots like him, forget about it.

He gets nervous around me which I like. I say don't get nervous, I don't bite, but I'm going to fire him next week so there you go, that's life.

Mid way through the day this girl comes in and he says its his girlfriend. She's nice you know like she speaks Italian and that. She says where you from and I say Sweden you know 'cause I'm funny like that. When she goes I'm confused a little and I say to him that's your girlfriend? I thought you were gay? I dunno if I ever thought he was but it makes him uncomfortable you know and I like that.

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