Fortunately for the poor tailor involvedi, shinohai reminded me I actually had a fitting appointment today. Since traffic is bad after noon, I started towards town early. Here's that adventure, recounted... blow by blow, so to speak.
First, I took a pleasant walk towards this fine Italian restaurant, to have my breakfast in the shape of their splendid antipasta (they do grilled vegetables really well ; and otherwise comprehend both cheses and fiambres, which is rare in this country). As I was digging into my plate, I vaguely noticed this kinda retired-whore looking older blonde hanging out with this kinda office-faggot looking fatter dood. Weird, thought my little guy that follows the field for enemies without respite, let or hindrance, but it didn't percolate. Later, however, a young hussy parked her car (wow, think about it!) and... joined them. Nothing to write home about, usual jeans-and-a-top-means-dressed-up nonsense, not to mention a faint beginning of chemical acne (lots of lower class girls have it here, I suspect it must be some shit the Chinese put in their makeup dusts), but the very idea ? It was evident the dood didn't know her, or she him, and equally evident he was trying buying her shit. Soo...
What would Baby Jesus do ?
What MP did was that he asked the waiter for a lapisero y algo por escrivir along the bill, and upon the (back of the) blank order form he received proceeded to write "Do me a favour and give my slavegirl a call at ****-**** sometime next week. Thanks." and passed it along. So this also serves as notice to the girl in question (you know who you are) : if some older hooker calls you sometime next week, tell her that your Master wrote that because he saw her procuring a girl for this dood at Andiamo La on Friday, and let's see your book.
Then I hopped in the car, and originally aimed it to that nice cafe where they have the apple pies (same place with the auctioned notebook, you recall) ; except the traffic was so fucking horrid I just got off at the park and walked the missing five or so kilometers -- which was indeed very pleasant. The weather here is fabulous, did I mention this ?
Anyway, so I sat down with the local newspaper, my coffee, my pie, and I read about how... hmm, what did I read about ?
Ah yes, here it is : an 88 yo who finally took his Bacalaureat. Took him four years and a lot of prayer, he says. Apparently he didn't wonder La ce imi serveste mie radicalurile ?
Here he is :
He's now the fourth of his brothers with a highschool cert. Apparently the fellow was always very interested in the wonderful world of learning, but his wife was very jealous! And never permitted him!!!! to go to class. Fancy that wonder. As per that old samovar joke : beat them hard and early for that sort of misbehaviour, it's not to be tolerated.
While I was reading this, a young-ish Dutch couple with a small kid had the following problem : he was running back and forth asking questions of the waiter to try and serve the Mistress, while she fucked with the phone and their toddler sat on its ass and screamed its head off. Fucking "Northern system" eurotards through and through. She looked back, and tried a faint attempt of a smile at me, in response to which I glared a very plain "fix your fucking baby before I feed it to you". So she went over there, picked it up, and lo and behold, perfectly fine behaved family unit thenceforth, including outright pleasant kid.
All it takes is one single solitary man's glare to fix the entire world, you understand me ?
Anyway, other items of vague interest in the paper : as a result of their fabulous "investments" in retardation there's going to be an electricity price hike next year to pay for a coupla hundred gigawatts worth of bunker fuel genereation ; not to mention a bunch of market buying (from fossil-based producers). This notwithstanding, the usual wreckers are pretty close to pushing through parliament an exemption from taxation for electric cars -- and for the usual package of outright lies and subtle deceit. And the locals, the poor, lovable, naive locals are eating it up ; as a result of which they had an uncovered deficit resulting from a momentary collapse of the bond market, which meant a million-and-half people didn't get their salaries on time yesterday. But there's no relation between all these items, and especially the solution to that relation isn't burning down the US "Embassy" and hanging anyone found on the premises by their very own guts. Please believe this.
Moving on : I took my final fitting, and as a few more stitches had to be laid the merchant asked me if I'd be willing to give them a couple of hours ? Which I was -- I took my precious self over to the Del Rey (which I think I might've mentioned before) and while my tailor (or, I guess, apprentices) finished the finishing touches on the finished product, I played tute. So well I played, in fact, that by the time the pit boss came to tell me it's a quarter to I had actually amassed enough tokens to pay for the tailor's bill. The entire exercise is actually cash neutral for me, imagine this, I talked a local Casino into crimping me suits!
So then I hopped into a cab, at the wheel this boobalicious Colombian (that had been living here for a few years) whom I proceeded to... pick up. She doesn't read English, otherwise I'd say hi Yohanna, or something. Aaanyway, we had a great time, the hour or so ride passed entirely unnoticed... she has this great laughter, other than the boobs. The traffic going the other way was fucking terrible, so being the curteous gent that I am I asked her whether she wants to come upstairs have a cup of coffee, since either way she'll get back about the same time. She enthusiastically accepted, not really for the traffic consideration I don't think ; I offered her Danish cookies, she discovered there's such a thing as macadamia nuts that aren't almonds nor maranons but can be very well covered in bitter dark chocolate, and also that there's a thing called BDSM ("o wow!") and that various elements of the place's decor, such as the cane on that table, or the whip hanging from that rod or so following aren't, exactly, decor, but rather decor-makers and so following.
And then I sat down to write you this missive, which I hope finds you well.
PS :
Oh, and I nearly forgot! Post-PS :
The dood had exactly no money in his hat when I threw my quinientos ; and further down the road there was a young couple, a man holding up a girl while she sorta-spun a small circle around her right ankle (which she dropped within a minute). A hundred or so people had stopped, they applauded for no conceivable reason, but nobody was throwing any pennies there either. So I offered them twenty thousand if she does it again, but naked. They looked at me like I was a fucking videocard artefact, "something that can't exist", and I didn't insist.
That twenty would have been more than the collected take of all the busking hopefuls for the entire city for the entire day, for the record ; much in the same way my tailor's bill was more than the collected take of all the whoring hopefuls for the entire Del Ray -- certainly for the time it took me to twist the dealers' nipples into giving it to me, and possibly for the entire fucking day also. Maybe even day-and-night!
Inequality, you know ? It's a think.
———- Apparently it takes a lot of skilled labour to ensure the continuance of this sad situation of "MP has no suits" that Internet randos have been decrying for a good decade now.
Speaking of which, do you know what the couchopotamus said to the other couchopotamus ? "Pity those strippers don't have hot beach bods". [↩]
