fat woman

naples, this year, this day:

…she is judgmental. She is eavesdropping. She is smelling. No, she is just a snoop. Bugging, taping a stifling dirty affair. He is sleeping with women in the second floor garbage shoot. That is the beginning. I didn’t agree with her, not at first, not at all, I didn’t agree that she could bug her man, her husband, her lover—her item. I didn’t agree at all. Not in the context. But of course I was a woman, a little mouse, a sneak, a peaker, a wanderer—a walker, yes, a gambler, a romantic. Alas, only a reader and a sitter. Everything is blissful in the zoo: the tiger, the smart tiger, the blessed and full and courageous lion (as proud and courageous as a lion), an ape, a gorilla, oh, as big and erotic and egotistical as an Ape!—any animal, any animal at all, of course, any animal, any animal in the zoo. She is a spy. A real fundamentally foul spy. And he is making sex with women in the second floor of a garbage heap because there is no place for the garbage and there is only place for the garbage of the mobsters. The italian mobsters, yes really, italian. No, I wouldn’t dare listen to the conversations, especially not the afterhour conversations, I am not permitted to listen to those, those are fearful and dangerous and full of plannings and plottings. Martha is fat. I am fat, she says. She is fat like a big dinner roll. Like a dinner roll that is human. She is plumpy, dumpy, lumpy. But, oh, she does not have mobster ties and she is lucky, at least, she is very lucky, to have such a garbage heap in front of her apartment. But two stories, two stories of garbage, and he, an insect, a man with six legs and six lives, is courageous enough is eager enough is playful enough to enact—like a lion, like a tiger, like a bear—the act of…oh my!...yes, but I am just a playful being, a sad and tragic target, a homely being, a woman of medium height and of interesting appeal, quite attractive in certain light, quite seductive in no light, purring like a kitten, no like a puma, and a leopard, oh, like a leopard I leap and plunge into the growl, the purring growl, oh, of a kitten, a puma—oh my!...He is, he is, even now, he is making the back and forth in the garbage, with, of course, with Tracy, she is a tramp, a whore of indulgence and self-importance, a woman, a classless woman looking for a fruitful introduction to intercourse—Oh, my!—not, intercourse, I meant discourse, they will bring me back. She is ever so judgmental. She is eavesdropping. She is ever so smelling. Ever so smelling…

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