How Things Are Turning Out (for Michael Cuddihy)
A man registers some pigeons at a hotel. They fly up to their rooms.
He's not sure that his mind doesn't fly with them . . .
He asks the desk clerk if everything seems all right. He would like to
know if the smoke coming out of his cigarette is real, or something the
management has had painted on the wall?
The desk clerk has turned his back and is sorting the mail.
Sir . . . , says the man.
But the desk clerk continues to arrange the mail.
Sir, would you look this way for a moment?
I can hear you, I'm just sorting the mail.
I wanted you to notice the smoke of my cigarette . . . Since the
pigeons flew up to their rooms . . . You never know about the future, I
mean how things will finally turn out . . . Please, could you check my
smoke . . . ?
When the desk clerk turns his face is covered with hair, like the back
of his head; and the front of his body is like the back of his body.
Where is your front?
My twin brother has the fronts; I was born with two backs . . . I
always got the spankings . . . But why regret the past?
That's good philosophy . . .
My best subject .
. . . Tell me, is everything turning out all right?
So far so good . . .
