CONSPIRACY

I'm alone again, walking down 86th Street, alone again, not sure where I'm going, alone. Again, the block is residential almost, stately and serene buildings, large but warm, although not really inviting to me. I keep catching my reflection in the windows I pass and I can't get comfortable with what I see. When did I get so think (I mean THICK) in the middle? My head is pounding and there's a whistling. They closeted...they CLOSED the bagel place on the corner. The only one I ever wanted to go to because of the wheat flour they use from Lebanon. No really. I can't tell you the name. It's not that I can't remember it's only because I'm limited contractually. Well, maybe not contractually but it's not something I'm comfortable discussing for let's say ethical reasons. Let's just SAY that. I passed by a window - street level - and it must have been a dentists office. Well, first there was a reception area with a blond at the desk but she didn't look like the kind of woman that would you know actually work for a dentist. Don't get me wrong, the uniform was excellent. And not just because it fit her...perfectly. I almost forgot my pounding FUCKING HEADACHE. In the next window there was a man actually in the dental chair, reclined--I'm staring at the bottoms of his shoes. I can see something has collected there near his right heel. It's maddening. The man is gigantic. His shirt is not well-fitted. It would be more appropriate for the doctor, you know the dentist. They probably dressed too quickly--in the assassin dressing room-HAH. And he's like IN the guy's mouth. There's no reason to be that far down his throat and believe me I know; I have some experience with teeth. I duck into the ATM, at the bank where the Lebanese bagel store used to be, bastards. There's another blond there. She's not part of the deal though. I saw her look at me reflected in the steel above her machine and it wasn't a look of someone watching, you know? Just looking like anyone else would look--not that anyone ever 'looks' at me. She dips her card and then so do I now that I know it's safe. We're entering our pins at the same time. Mine's from Winston Churchill's wife's birthday because no one would ever guess that. And Churchill's been dead for like 50 years and so he doesn't know anything about ATM's. And then I realize that they pitched the beeps of the two ATM's keypads like a half a tone apart from one another. It's an old Nazi trick. They used to play recordings of Mozart violin concertos on two separate turntables connected to the speakers in the camps. But the second recording turned just a little bit faster. The effect is maddening. How long is this blond's pin? She keeps entering. My head's going to explode.