The Men Who Would Sell The World

I saw the tobacco guys this morning. One of them gives you a penetrating look from behind eyeglasses while the other flashes a wittingly boyish smile. 

Once, they invaded my lair at the 14th floor where I’m usually alone and so I let the music roll. Judith was playing at the time. The ambassador of smiles was drumming on his lap, right foot beating the floor as if it were a bass drum pedal. He was singing and was good at it, I thought to myself: oh, lord, what a beautiful creature.

My first encounter with them, I remember, was when I bought something at the pantry and he said he’d like a tobacco as we reached the counter. I managed to laugh. He added, “old school, alright” and flashed the smile. The other one is more reserved but he lets out a smile when the occasion arises. He reminds me of some progressive artist—or it must be the beard.

I just found out this morning that they work for an outbound call  center—doing sales—in the same building. I said they must be selling their souls, and they laughed. I second-guessed they sell their bodies, they laughed again.

Dear, Cobain, they are quite interesting. I’d like to call them the-men-who-would-sell-the-world.

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