I’ve taken on some sort of job working in a shop. The shop is run by some African American guy who also seems to be an importer of “other” goods. There are lots of African imports of clothing, masks, jewelry, etc. There’s another guy working there that I know. We get taken out to have a conversation about what we talk about in the shop. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want any talk about anything that’s too fringe. He doesn’t want customers freaking about. I tell him that I never talk about anything too fringe, but if one were to look me up online, you’d easily find something controversial about me. And when I get my book released, it may push things over the edge about me. He’s not too worried about it. He indicates that we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. We go back inside. The phone rings. It’s for me. It’s a client who wants to talk. The timing’s not good for me. I can see him in my mind’s eye. He’s a silver-haired psychiatrist. I know he has patients so I ask if he can call me between 12-1 for a lunch break. He says that’s perfect.
Air of drug importing or something shady going on. The shop is cool. Not sure why I’m working there.
