The Hair of Harold Roux
“Who wants him now? He feels guilty, violated, defensive. If he could only let the thing ring. He could let it go on and on until it lost its breath and quit. But it insists; its shrill, self-confident yowl demands him, and so he goes to it and picks up the black bar, the crooked Bakelite dumbbell, and puts it to the side of his head. “Hello,” he says in his always receptive, neutral telephone voice.
“Hello, Aaron? Hey, man?” It is Mark Rasmussen, his voice high and accelerated, coming from a lo...ng way off as if through a conduit.
“Mark!”
“See see shoo shoo!” Mark laughs. “Aaron, now! Wee green pinkadoolic voices tell me you’ve been inquiring after me, man. Very paternal, responsible. Brother’s keeper, like. I mean, pardon me, just mean to say it’s all fine, okay, so don’t worry about anything. Okay?”
“George and I want to help you, if you want us to. Where are you, Mark?”
“You’re both sweeties. Indeed you are. Appreciate it oh so much but never mind, huh?MoreLess
“Hello, Aaron? Hey, man?” It is Mark Rasmussen, his voice high and accelerated, coming from a lo...ng way off as if through a conduit.
“Mark!”
“See see shoo shoo!” Mark laughs. “Aaron, now! Wee green pinkadoolic voices tell me you’ve been inquiring after me, man. Very paternal, responsible. Brother’s keeper, like. I mean, pardon me, just mean to say it’s all fine, okay, so don’t worry about anything. Okay?”
“George and I want to help you, if you want us to. Where are you, Mark?”
“You’re both sweeties. Indeed you are. Appreciate it oh so much but never mind, huh?MoreLess
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