09

P1130601

Human Resources

When last we saw our hero, she had taken up residence
as a manufacturer of good vibes.  Her methods,
while outwardly sound,  gave off a sheepish, though powdery,
glandular scent. The kids loved her smell.  By kids, we mean
guys she met at poetry readings who followed her home
and mooned at her through various apparati.  She had
graduated from the Bergtraum School of the Business of Veils
and Hunches and Improvised Esoterica, where her attempts
at being graceful met with laughter, but where all found her
realistic way of showing emotions to be soothing in the cramped
quarters of her single room.  Like the small woman from Poltergeist,
she was mockable, but you wanted her around when ectoplasm
started messing with your shit. Short and magical was how
she described herself in personal ads, when in fact
she was rather tall and ordinary, and sometimes rumpled
and perplexed.  But Xanax made her feel wrapped in cotton batting,
so she reverted to her practice of pretending to be a shaman who
gave psychic makeovers in the subway. She lived with ghosts,
laughing at the people who warned of their inability to clean
up after a tirade or a party.  She’ll tell your fortune at her
discretion, for barter only and by appointment.
It will make you sleepy.  It will change your life.

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