Saturday is the day we spend at my apartment, and Tano sits at my table and works on his notes. Every Saturday. He keeps saying they're
close to being done, but he spends weekend after weekend with them and they never get done. He's nervous because he has to make his notes
interactive, since he's billing himself as an interactive artist, but he doesn't want anyone messing up his notes.|
He says, "Listen: Interface limits the participants' desires."
"Uh huh," I say. I go back to reading last week's paper.
Tano says, "Are you looking for a job?"
"No, I'm waiting until I run out of money."
"You have savings?"
"How will you pay your rent when you run out of money."
"I don't know. Anyway, it's not your problem." Silence. I think maybe that wasn't a nice thing to say, so I say, "I need time to garden. I'm more comfortable in dirt than at work."
Silence. More paper reading. I hear a clicking sound. I look up and he's yanking hairs out of his beard and flicking them on my floor.
"Are you flicking those on my floor?" I ask.
"Sorry," he says.
I go back to reading the paper and when I glance up, Tano flicks a piece of ear wax and it falls on his shoulder. He looks at me to see if I was looking.
He picks up the earwax and puts it back in his ear.
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