J R

— Excuse me sir… he turned at a tug on his jacket by a woman filling the phone booth behind him. — You Mister Slomin?

— I? No, what…

— Hello…? she got the phone back to her ear, closing herself in with difficulty. — No Mister Slomin’s away from his desk right now. Can he call you back when he comes in…?

— Eight, nine, is twelve enough Mister Bast? I’ll bring the rest over in a second we’re just looking at them.

— Give them to me yes…

— And I had to lend two to Mister Gibbs okay?

— To what?

— Two nickels… a door clattered open behind him and a hand emerged to point, — or I mean three…

The hand withdrew into the booth, — Ben…? No I’ve just been out there I’ve just seen her, she… her lawyer did? Well what does her lawyer… what do you mean he says I go to the track if I didn’t go to the God damned track do you think I could keep up these payments? She… Well whose fault is that, the court order tells me to pay it directly to the Department of Probation if it takes them two weeks to get it to her what am I sup… Well God damn it she’s the one who took it to court in the first place look, if there’s some way to… what kind of a lump sum, where does she think I… the door started its clatter closed, — Christ what a thing to, that bitch that, stupid stale bitch…

— Boy is he pissed off at somebody, did you see him come in hey? Like he tried to go the wrong way in the revolving door.

— He’s a pisser, give me some more of your water.

— What does it taste like.

— Like tomato juice what do you think.

— That old guy over there keeps looking over.

— So what.

— So he looks like the manager and he’s going to come over and boot your ass for using up all the ketchup.

— It’s on the table free isn’t it?

— Okay but you didn’t even buy a sandwich, you get fifty cents for lunch and you don’t even buy your sandwich.

— So…? A sodden paper bag came dragged from the battered portfolio — I’m buying one off myself so whose business is that.

—’Sixty-eight, ’seventy, ’forty-nine look hey here’s an old Indian head one what’s it worth.

— Five cents look I’m trying to read this thing hey, could you…

— What that crap they just gave us up there? You can’t even understand it.

— So what I can ask somebody… the pencil stub ground down a margin — holy, you got a napkin?

— They’re by the spoons over there. Like a club boys and girls I mean that’s some club boy, you don’t even get to…

— Look I’m trying to read hey… a handkerchief wad came up to smear the ketchup splash across the page — could you shut up a minute?

— Sure ’seventy, ’seventy-two here’s another Indian head one you know why the Indian’s nose is all squeezed up like this hey?

Doors clattered behind them. — Excuse me are you Mister Slomin?

— If I was I’d change my name.

— Hey wait Mister Gibbs? Could I just ask you wait a second, what does it mean where it says at the top here options exercised.

— Take them out walk them around the block, look where did you…

— No honest hey, what…

— Means you have the chance to buy something like stock at a certain price within a certain time, you exercise it you’ve bought it look what are you all doing here anyhow.

— It’s this here field trip where’s this other thing wait, divested here where it says he divested himself…

— Took off his clothes, what field trip…

— No honest, divested himself of his holdings in order to…

— Means he got rid of all his stock what field trip.

— Mrs Joubert she’s over there, see? by where it says bread and rolls? And wait aggregate, what does aggregate…

Behind them the door clattered. — Mister Marks? Just a minute I’ll see if he’s in the office. Mister Marks…? but his back had reared in an abrupt turn that the right bar of music just then might have claimed for a moment from a tango leaving him pitched and staring, steadied against a table before he moved avoiding the approach of age grazing with ruminant dignity in the retrieval of napkin wads from unmarked paths leading to where it said bread and rolls.

— Look out here he comes, hey.

— So what… the glass came down emptied, the sweater sleeve up to wipe away the ketchup tinge mustache — if that badge he’s got says he’s this here manager see why they don’t put these napkin things on the tables.

— They’re over by spoons get me one hey, what are you doing.

— Giving him back his nickels, watch my stuff… he swept them off the table turning for where it said beverages, coming up behind a renewed assault on the beverage gargoyle — hey Mister Bast? Here’s the rest of your nickels…

— Just, careful just drop them in my pocket… and cup rattled on saucer recovering the course toward where it said bread and rolls to reach the table without accident until it was set down — I’m sorry I, I’ll get a napkin…

— Why they can’t simply put them on the tables…