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New York and Chador


Copyright 2011 K Kishmot


Smashwords Edition



New York and Chador


Foreheads being wiped with forearms and backs of the hand everywhere, Julius crossed the sidewalk alertly. Yellow cabs were jammed and honking and there was a heated argument between two Chinese men on the curb. Afro-American teens were staring on at the gesticulations the two were using.

Julius was glad he took the subway, though it had brought some perspiration to his clothes and made his hair a little less perfect. He usually worked from home for a sinking on-line insurance firm. He was a singer really. But sometimes he blamed his looks.

It was a first-date with a cute American-Iranian called Seema. She was brainy. A bit too brainy for him. Always talking about Lacan and the cogito. And they hadn’t yet been on a first date.

Seema was already at the Deli. Julius thought it was some kind of joke because he only recognised her when she stepped forward with a bunch of irises for him. She was dressed from head to toe in a black white polka-dotted chador. The flowerbunchless hand was delicately joining beneath her chin the edges of the chador showing off her face like a pretty balloon. Her large brown eyes sparkled. Her lips were immaculately colored… but... No... no... She was embarrassing him here at the Deli in front of some acquaintances of the creative people he hung out with.

“Where are the elephants?” quipped Julius as he pushed the irises back into Seema’s hold.

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