Me & James F. 4

October 22nd, 2013, 10am

Four. ( À bout de souffle) James F. tells me he thinks the couple in the hot dog place maybe recognized him. We’re in his apartment. Books cover one wall. I think he’s read most of them, he says so at least. He wants to write a book about robbing small vendors throughout New York. It’ll be like a tour book. I’m his assistant and I make 2 and 1/2 times minimum wage.

“It’ll be memoir passed off as fiction instead of the usual fiction passed off as memoir.” James F. winks at me. I feel as his assistant I should write this down but he’s high so I just lean back on the couch. Above my head hangs a poster for a 60’s French film, I look at the girl. She probably had a lot of lovers. They had free love back then but nowadays everything feels immoral.

I go to the bathroom and sit, maybe I cry cause after I dry my face with his soft Barney’s towels.

“D.E.,” James F. calls. I go back to the living room. Where we are on T.V.

David Wade said thanks.

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Danielle Ellen

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