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1

The interview was very early. I was very tired. Of course the interview was early, and of course it was last night that I became an insomniac.

I didn't get the job. There was someone else there too and she had slept last night. Although if the interviewer had his way she wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Maybe that's why she got the job. I don't mean that she is sleeping with "the boss" but maybe he thought so. Nice enough lady. Offered me a certs.

I bet she liked me. I bet that's why she offered me the certs. I should've taken it. I should've taken it.

I walked home after the interview. I like public transit, I really do, but I felt like walking. Apparently sunlight during the day will make you sleep better at night. I don't know if it's true for other people, but it isn't for me. I saw a man walking his dog when I walked into my building. Through the door of my building. Not the wall.

2

So I went downtown. I was very tired and I didn't feel much like walking, and I only had bus fare and a bit in my pocket, but I thought I'd go shopping downtown. I don't go out very often and I figured if I saw something I wanted to buy that day I would come back some other time and buy it.

I didn't see anything I wanted to buy, but a used bookstore had a help wanted sign in the window. So I went inside. "Could I get an application?", I said to the man behind the cash register. He handed me an application form. "Mind if I do it here?", I asked. "Go ahead.", he said. I took the pen out of my shirt pocket and began writing my answers to the survey questions. I answered honestly.
 
When I was finished I handed the application back to the man behind the cash register. He began to look at it. "I'm just going to look around.", I said. "Hm.", he replied. He was eating a bagel. I looked at the books. I saw a book I'd read before, so I picked it up and read the blurb. It was a good book the last time I read it. It was written by a Canadian. I put the book down and picked up another. I had never heard of the second book and it said "young adult" on the spine above the name of the publisher. It was a book written by a middle aged man, for pre-teen girls, about teen-aged girls and their boy friends. Then someone dies. A tragedy I suppose. I put that book back down and walked over to the magazine rack. A grey haired man in a suit was on most of the covers.
 
I don't watch CNN.

"Hey," said the man behind the cash register, "when can you start work?"

"Um," I said, "I don't know whenever."

"How about in two hours?"

"Okay, sure." I said. I took the bus home.

3

I knew what was about to happen because I had read about it in magazines and had watched television programs about it. I was going to have a heart attack.

I quite like it in the hospital. I like the food. I always have. I like hospital food and airplane food and frozen T.V. dinners. Call me crazy but I do. This isn't some scam to make you think I'm quirky either. It's a fact. I dis-like home cooked meals. I don't really like "real" food. People say processed cheese slices aren't real cheese. They contain cheese, plus some other things. I call it "Cheese Plus". Like Milk Plus in A Clockwork Orange. Cheese slices always make me ready for a bit of the the old ultra-violence, That is, the outside world. That's why I like hospitals so much, they're so surreal. Hospitals are a grand ant farm for human existance wouldn't you say? Babies are born there and people die there, but there's more to it. Family members experience pure elation when they see a loved one that just came out of surgery, or they may experience pure sadness when a loved one doesn't come out of surgery.  And just before, the waiting, the dread, the suspence, etc, etc. Hospitals are little petri-dishes of emotion. The most traumatic things happen in hospitals. Come to think of it, hospitals and wars do the same things. Only differently. I think that's a very interesting thing.

I was very tired when they revived me. I didn't knw anybody that was in my room, but I knew I was in a hospital and, like a holiday Inn when you're fucking tired, it comforted me. I have no preference over hotels or motels of any name, it's just that Holiday Inn is so very sterile and usually when someone simply says, "motel" people tend to think of roach infested rooms with stains everywhere. I really dislike the smell of hospitals though.  i always have. I can't describe it. It smells like fear.

The owner of the bookstore came into my room. He said that he felt terrible about what happened. Because that's what people say when something terrible happens. He asked me if I locked up the store before I left. I said, "No." and he left in a hurry. He said he had to go.

4

A few days later I felt better. My strength was mostly back and I returned to work at the bookstore. But then something terribly horrid happened.

The store was empty except for one man and myself. He brought up a book to the cash register where I was and said, "I'd like to buy this.". So I let him pay for it and while I was getting his change and the flyer for the sale next week he was talking to me. Small talk type stuff. Real annoying like. He was a perfectly nice man and all, and I didn't dis-like him, but I didn't want him talking to me. I gave him his change and said, "Thank you." indicating the end of the transaction. But he stayed right where he was. He continued his conversation and all I could do was give short, non-commital answers. And so there I had made a friend. Well, a one    sided friend. I was indifferent towards him but he dug me, that was clear.

Or maybe I was just there. I'm alone and when there's just one other person in the room, I keep quiet. Even if I have something to say, I stay quiet. Not this guy though. He probably talks to strangers on the bus, waitresses, people on aeroplanes (aeroplane is so much more charming then airplane) and, of course, lonely cashiers like myself. I can relate to him, sometimes I wish I had someone to talk to. But I'd never put myself out like that. I'm always afraid the person won't like me.

5

The speed of perception of the ultra-bizarre varies inversly with the amount of television the observer has watched. I saw a man shoplift a copy of a ten year-old Danille Steel novel. I let that go. I was urprised we even had it in the store. it was in the bargain bin for 50 cents. I payed for it myself. I didn't want any kind of trouble for a Danielle Steel book.

I spent a lot of time in that book store with no one coming in. One day only one person came into the store. She bought an Isaac Asimov novel. She was attractive. She reminded me of someone I couldn't think of then and can't think of now. I've never had any female friends. I'd had girld friends, but no female friends, if you understand.