Erin: Oh, yeah. That feels so good. You feel so good. After today, I really, really, oh...

Abe: Did something bad happen today?

Erin: No, not really. I mean, sorta. I got a promotion.

Abe: Oh? Is that bad?

Erin: Yeah, in a way. Sorta bad because this morning Mr. Gilbert fired his assistant, Manny. I felt kinda bad about it because it was mostly my fault. The other day we were in the office, and Mr. Gilbert was out, as he usually is in the early afternoon if nothing’s scheduled to come in or go (oh, yeah, like that, so nice) out, and there was this fax that had to be sent, a confirmation for some (oh) order, which Manny had typed out on this neat old antique typewriter that Mr. Gilbert keeps on his desk. The thing is that then it has to be scanned so it can be put on the (ah, the ah) the computer. So Mr. Gilbert has this fancy scanner, printer, faxer machine also on his desk, a really sleek modern thing, quite a contrast to the clunky old typewriter, even though the typewriter is beautiful. Manny calls them Mister and Missus. I’m not sure which is the (muh, muh) Mister and which is the Missus. I guess the slim sleek fax machine is the Missus, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Manny thought it was the (oh, the oh, the) Mister. Anyway, the thing sits at the edge of the desk, so when it faxes something, the paper slides out off the edge of the desk and onto the (ah, the ah, the) floor. There’s probably supposed to be an output tray or something, but either it broke or Mr. Gilbert didn’t (ah) like the (ah, ) look of it so he left it off. (Oh, I gotta rest a minute.)

So (ah, where was I? Oh yeah) so Manny faxes the document, and after it goes through, Manny tries to catch it before it falls to the floor. He has his hand right at the place the paper is coming out, but he’s not quick enough, and if you look at Manny, all wiry, you’d think he’d be very (qui, qui) quick. But it drops so (fuh, fuh) fast, then the air catches it and it floats the last couple of feet, and land somewhere on the floor. Manny says he’s never caught one yet, but he always tries. “Can I try?” I ask. Manny shrugs, and then looks around, so right then I understand that something isn’t quite right about what he’s going to do, but he does it. He punches the resend button and puts the (um, the um) paper in the input tray, and the machine goes beep, beep, gurble, gurble, crickle-crackle, and the paper starts going (thr-thr) through. Done, it drops down, but quick I pinch it between my fingers. I hand the sheet to Manny with a soft smile. He’s incredulous. “How’d you do that?” he (ah) asks. “Must (buh, buh) be beginner’s luck,” he (suh, suh, suh) says. “Let’s see you do that again,” he says. So he feeds the sheet back through the fax machine, and same as before I catch it.

He says, “I don’t believe it. I’m going to catch the fucker.” And he does it again, but the sheet comes out and Manny can’t catch it. “Shit!” he says, and he picks it up off the floor and tries it again. And again and again. (Oh Abe. Mmm. Oh! Pinch me a little harder. Mmm, both at once. Oh yeah!) He never does catch it. He’s still trying it and I think I hear someone coming in so I go out into the gallery to see.