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270 pages, Hardcover
First published March 1, 2011
“Abel,” said my secretary, offering his hand. “I’m profound.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m profound.”
“In what way?”
“I’m a writer. I’m only doing this to pay the bills. In fact, I’m an undiscovered great.” Abel seemed to have an impossibly long body, not thin, but long, as if all his mass had been extruded without losing the breadth. He had enormous nostrils like the vents of jet engines from which a few hairs fluttered between thin lips like a series of mahjong tablets from which the offending spots had been wiped. His puppety arms were continually restless in florid piques of outrage and condescension.
“Also, I don’t do shorthand, it cramps my style.”
“Abel?”
“Yes?” He turned his head like a nut on a bolt.
“Why is there a fish swimming in the water cooler?”
“It’s a Pampas fish; it gobbles up the detritus and keeps the water clean. They harvest them from whales.”
“Doesn’t it, you know, contaminate the water?”
“It makes a very nutritious effluent. It charges the water with vitamins, electrifies its micronutrients. I add them to my bath at home.”
“Your bath?”
“They nibble my body perfectly clean. And it is only when I am perfectly clean that I write my best work. I get out before they micronutrient.”