More from Getting Even…Almost

The WikiLeak guy is spraying his scent around again.  Now we all have to do some reading on how government officials don’t tell their fans exactly how business is conducted.  Really, no one knew this?  I threw down the gauntlet to the Widileaky guy already and he has ignored me.  Well what can I do?  It seems that the guy has never, ever worked for a living. 

What he is ‘divulging’ is basically how every business is run, closed door session or not.  So, am I surprised that Hilary is a shrew?  No, not really.  We all knew this.  But if anyone had a modicum of intelligence they read between the lines and know that when an unbalanced state procures nuclear technology everyone had better hide.  Ask the neighbors of N. Korea that. 

Anyway, he set out a load of stuff (read s. h. i….) and well, someone besides the newspaper gang has got to read it.  This will put me in a very select group of individuals…, those who actually read the Wikileaky stuff.  I think the number is up to about ten or so…, worldwide.

Yes I’m a junkie and now I just gotta go check in and read the Leaky Wikis. 

So again, I will just leave you with a page or two of the first book I wrote a few years back.  It is not yet published, but let me know what you think.

The title of the book (this can change) is ‘Getting Even… Almost’ and I’ve pasted in the first few pages Chapter 9.   Remember I pasted a few pages from the first chapter way back in early November.

Have fun.

Saverio

All I want for breakfast is a proper cup of coffee.

Inside the Rubicon on a kitchen countertop a drip-coffee pot, improperly assembled for the morning task, was gamely trying to fulfill its mission.  Francesco, dressed in his bunny slippers and robe, was in dire need of caffeine, but the machine was working too damn slow this morning for his liking.  He had crouched low so that his face was directly in front of the pot itself and watched as a steady but slow stream of light brown liquid dripped, one drop after another, into the waiting pot but the the pre-warmed mug in his hand was already starting to cool off and his back, well that had begun to ache.  He was not happy, and as the heated liquid continued to slowly find its way through the filter into the waiting pot, Francesco descended into morning purgatory, neither fully awake nor asleep.  For an unknown reason he began to hum a song that he hated, but couldn’t get out of his head.

“All I want is a proper cup of coffee, made in a proper copper coffee pot.

I may be off my dot, but I want a …”

“Enough of this shit” he muttered and straightened up.  As he did so, several out-of-alignment vertebrae in his lower back cracked and with nothing to do but wait, Francesco paced up and down the tiled floor.  He occasionally traced a loop around the island counter for variation while the aroma of the coffee that was not yet ready agitated the hell out of him. 

“We have to get a new one of these things.  This one’s too damn slow,” he said as he walked once again to the window and back while looking at his slippers. 

As he circumnavigated the kitchen to keep his mind off his immediate need, Francesco catalogued all of the additions, one by one.  The windows, tile floor, cabinets, countertops, fresh paint, baseboards, trim, refrigerator (not that theirs needed replacing, but he figured a bigger unit would be handy for the business.  After all, a bigger unit is always better, especially when it comes time to brag) and soon maybe the coffee maker.  In rhythm to the cataloging, he practiced deep breathing exercises trying to stay calm.  Unfortunately for Francesco, he was fighting a losing battle, for there was merely one week until the first guests arrived.  Consequently, his insides had really been turning over of late.  “Why the hell did I ever invite those people?  I hate them all, or at least the ones I know!”  His slippers refused to comment. 

The whole house had needed major repairs and they started with the kitchen.  He remembered what a chore it had been getting all the workmen lined up- the plumber, electrician, inspectors and carpenters.  Francesco had had the whole plan in his head and while difficult to explain to others, he thought he’d succeeded laying out the big picture for Rachel.  The strokes of the paintbrush had been layered onto the canvas and then, as a magnanimous gesture of collaboration and teamwork, he stepped aside to let her handle the details.  He was the thinker and she was operations.  It worked well for him that way.  Besides, he needed time to find the extra accoutrements needed to give the business its flair.  There the Internet had been his friend. 

He liked the way the kitchen turned out.  The deep windowsills, in the kitchen and throughout the house were particularly attractive to him.  Here in the kitchen, potted plants occupied the sills.  He moved some of these over and sat for a moment, feeling the sun on his shoulders.  The Mennonites added beautiful cabinetwork that enhanced the incoming light, drawing one’s attention upward, as in a great Cathedral.  They also added built-in shelves and extra cabinets along the wall and in the pantry, which gave the house sufficient storage space, he hoped, for serious entertaining.  The new appliances were set into designated spaces and blended with the counters, giving the room a sense of serenity.  Francesco liked to sit here in the early morning until the sun moved around to the southern face of the house and admire the work.  “If it wasn’t for the need to make a living, I’d be content to sit here and drink coffee all day,” he noted as he rose from the window sill and made his way to the hearth.  Then he added, “that is if I ever get coffee this morning.” 

The original fireplace, with its four-foot hearth, was the centerpiece of the room.  Francesco and Rachel attended many local auctions to find the right iron work for it.  Eventually they found what they were looking for on eBay.  Francesco opened the flue.  Soot fell out, covering his arm and contaminating his coffee mug.  “Damn.”

The property was a dump when they bought it.  “That was why it was so affordable,” Francesco reminded his slippers.  Now, looking back six months, he was pleased with how fast everything came together.  “Did you ever think we’d end up living in Pennsylvania, doing this?”

Francesco tried to remember the exact sequence of events that culminated in their current situation, but that was not easy.  He always assumed a defining event had changed the course of his life, but as he searched for a reason for this moment, each memory linked itself to an earlier event that took him farther and farther back to his earliest childhood.  But that didn’t make sense.  His current condition had to have originated in Canada.  That was when the shit hit the fan.  There was the insomnia, then the stomachaches and then nervousness that kept getting worse and worse until he made the mistake of his life.  He told his supervisor.  All he really wanted were tips on how to manage stress.  When he had asked his boss what the company could do to help him and was told to visit the Human Resources Director.  He did.

“Don’t worry,” says Jim Gaffigan, “there is a bunny.”

Saverio Monachino's writing style has been termed by some as 'Kurt Vonnegut meets Mark Twain'.  Saverio describes it as 'comic fiction noir'. Regardless of the terms used, his attempt is to use humor to open the door to serious discussion about very important human issues.  You can find Saverio Monachino on www.comicfictionnoir.com.