out to lunch

I told them I didn’t practice the piano. I felt a little ashamed because I played like a fowl with its feet despite the fact that I had just graduated from a music school. The woman asked me what I was doing then. Apparently she couldn’t believe someone might have seriously disregarded such an artistic endeavor. She went on saying that they desperately needed a piano player, that it was such a beautiful, such a noble, marvellous way of making money, etc. She was very excited, and I terribly disappointed her answering that I was doodling on scraps of paper time and again, nothing more. There was a piece of paper filled with my doodles on the table. She saw it, but they thought that my problem was alcohol, because they saw the glass as well. I said I drank just a glass in a week, I don’t know why. It wasn’t true, and they didn’t believe me. Then the guy began to talk about angling on Saturn and how sly all the Saturnians were. No wonder, he said, they had duped all the other planets with their leaden diet. I replied that we had to, one way or another, wipe out every worm, every fly, every possible and impossible kind of bait from the face of Saturn. (It was the wrong thing to say, I admit.) The automatic doors opened at that moment and I was ready to exit with my cat, but there was also a dog in the room that was eager to get outside. I caught hold of its left hind leg and passed it over to the guy.


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