Anything short of that is just too unseemly.Īnyway, I'd told Mack that I thought of Sunny as sort of a doorman, someone who had to tolerate fools on her back because someone put a bit in her mouth. If you must, like said naif, have a vast trust fund, I think you need to start every day by: 1) donning a hair shirt 2) announcing to the world that you're utterly cognizant of just how smug and greedy you are and 3) buying a city a library.
When Mack had said he hated "educated people" and I'd said I did too, I actually meant I hated the kind of person who requires not only privilege and money but also the delusion that no one minds that he has it.
"No, it's not like that," the naif had protested. Being the kind, helpful person I am, I'd explained to the naif that if his doorman felt anything toward him at all, it was just dull contempt, that his interest lay in a big Christmas tip. He was referring to the story I'd told him about a privileged naif in Chicago (to Mack all urban centers were identically irrelevant) who thought his doorman actually liked him because he always remembered his name and joined him in banter. "Trust me, she ain't no New York doormat." "No, I stay in business by training my mules to throw riders off and then trample 'em." "Didn't you say she's been highly trained not to do stuff like that?" "Yeah, but she won't because you trained her not to, right?" I said. She can get rid of you by just rearin' up. "Well, right now she'd be telling me to piss off." I was the one trying to stay on her back. " 'N' if Sunny could talk right now," he continued, "you think she'd be tellin' me to piss off?" "Well, you never stop talkin' and I don't never know what you're thinkin', just that you do way too much of it." "Well, since she don't talk," I went on, heatedly, "you don't really know what she thinks, do you?" Then again, arguing beats panicking over the fact that one is 5 miles off the ground on top of a mule. She don't think about the unfairness of life." "If somethin' comes up, she thinks about what she's gonna do next. "But you told me mules think," I'd argued, an arduous task when atop a mule. "No, Sunny don't hate you," Mack had to keep telling me. I was also distracted by great waves of guilt. I couldn't tell I was leaning I was too busy trying to keep my feet in the crazily non-gyno stirrups, the reins in my hands, my coccyx from breaking and myself from barfing at the bouncing horizon. "That-a-way? What, like the Tower of Pisa?" I swear, the horizon kept bouncing around.
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