“You’re in the land of Zion,” now, he shouted, “you’re in the land of the Jews!” He was obviously a lunatic, but I didn’t want to back down.
With the sort of froideur you only find in people in glass booths or servants of minor European royalty, he told me to take a number.
On my birthday I go to an exhibition. Its themes are: death, separation, misery, gloom. Everything but fun. Perfect!
What I missed, every day, yearned for, actually, was a British-style pork sausage. I dreamt of them. At least I think it was sausages I saw in my dreams.
It may have been my sympathetic manner, it may have been the badge that says ‘Cock’ that I wear on my lapel, maybe it’s Maybelline, who can tell, but Ido soon began to tell me scandalous stories about his busy sex life.
Vera said, for everyone to hear, ‘Jews want money, of course,’ and laughed.
He said he’d had a headache, and had to pack, but I knew that it was love that had made him a liar.