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Jain & Co.


by Crabby McGrouchpants


       She said hi.
        I was just walking down the street, minding my own business, when she did this.  It truly was, apropos of nothing.  We didn't even make eye contact; I didn't even know she was there until she broke my concentration.
        I looked up, at this de facto intrusion, and saw her standing there, in a raincoat and nothing else.
        Hi again, she said, exaggerating her lip movements, as if doing so would add justification to what she was doing, instead of simply having a reason — or occasion — to speak in the first place.
        What the . . . I thought.  That's an awful lot of unnecessary work . . . and for nothing, besides.  What's the deal?
        Then she opened her raincoat.
        Look, she said, her lips and words not quite in sync somehow.  I've got religion and commerce, here, merged together!  It's all you need!
        I looked.

        I never saw anything so ugly, naked woman or not.

        I walked on, without a word.  That cute girl at the coffee shop might have read the book I gave her.  Or maybe not.
        Or, maybe she wouldn't wouldn't be there.  I didn't know what time she worked.  We had just met; for all I know, she could have had a boyfriend, all along.
        But . . . whatever.  At least I could get some coffee, and sit down for a minute.  I'm sure I could find something to do there . . . eventually, at least.
        I turned the corner, and walked on.
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