You must be obsessed to gain entry here. You must
break the rules, disregard your safety, ignore the door, quench your thirst. In
short, you have to give it up. Then you might gain entry. But there are no
guarantees. It might not be what
you had in mind. This is not for everyone. and know
this, once you are obsessed there is no turning back. Of course you can back
off, but you cannot become clean again. This is the price. There is no shortage
of candidates in spite of this.
Each morning the floor needs to be swiped. They come
in all forms and shapes. They persist. As this has gone on for some time, they
shrink into background chatter, part of the fabric. In short, they invisibilise.
Only by their silent intermittent sighs do you know they are
there at all. So you adapt, and workaround it. For
him, this became routine. Sharpening of the pen, cleaning the pad. (He liked
his pad clean.) Some short minutes of looking at the poplar tree outside the
window, allowing for a lost in contemplation moment.
then, mind and pencil sharpened he turned to the work
of the day. Careful notetaking, details so crucial in this business.
and then, each day the same
time, the knock on the door, the back of her carefully dancing the tray in. The
wisp of smoke trailing as if rising from her head, but of course emanating from
the hot coffee she was so graciously bringing.
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