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One thing for sure, Uncle V’s business—as business, now—was as money as a business can be. Its revenues were pure profit and customers killed one another to give him his fees. He expended no effort to provide his service; Read the rest of this entry »
So many words are already written on a dollar bill, it hardly needs more language from me, words as evocative as God and Trust, as if heaven had to sanction my buying a croissant, beautiful words though, about my public and private debts. Read the rest of this entry »
Neighbors and strangers are holding bits of my childhood up to the sunlight, the better to judge them. Mom and I have arranged the tables in loose chronological order; attentive shoppers moving clockwise will see my unformed adolescent self unfold into hopeful young womanhood over there by the plum tree. Read the rest of this entry »
The logic of the raise is ruthless and simple, I told Amy. We don’t get raises for what we’ve done: management doesn’t tip. Our raises are like higher bids. If there’s no other bidder, the auction’s over. Amy doesn’t get it. Read the rest of this entry »
Of all my tools, although more often I use a single-edge razor, I’m partial to the paper punch. I love the neat little hole it leaves behind and the ripping thwick of the two round fitted edges cleaving the fabric. Read the rest of this entry »
I work hard on my checks to the phone company, the utilities, the landlord and those irresponsibly naïve organizations that have entrusted me with credit. God bless their mortal souls. My checks are late and never for the recommended amount but they are works of art. Read the rest of this entry »
After childhood, joy is never pure, but this came close, I thought. Granted, it was only business. The tacky ballroom, decked out for dinner and speeches, was stuffed with stockholders and studded with corporate brass. Read the rest of this entry »