My recorder has stored a highly detailed 16 minute and 12 second description of a book this man read a couple decades ago. It is the autobiography of Bernard Baruch, a wall street guy who hung out at the Waldorf Astoria hotel in the 1930’s. The description would have been even longer had I not the urge to use the bathroom. To get the rest of the story I’ll have to read the rest of the book, but he warned me that it is hard to find as it has gone out of print.
Snooping around on the second floor I discover the Pfister’s room rates. Even with a bath, it’s cheaper than renting an apartment. So, I’m moving into a room.
Now that I live at the Pfister my breakfast always looks likes this. Made in house daily by dainty fingered bakers that know the difference between a dried currant and a dried blueberry by touch alone.
My lunches are exquisite medleys of pecans, bacon, tomato, spinach and salmon grilled by low voiced gorillas with ornamental (but harmless) fangs.
My snacks are the giant pretzels set out for convention goers.
This supper of chicken and mashed cauliflower enraptures me so much that I must fill my paper napkin with the scribbles of divine savoring!
I take the frantic notations of my sensorial frizmitation and place it with gratitude inside the pianist’s tip jar.
I use to think these perfect things were made out of convincing colored wax and shined with mineral oil, too good to be true… but they are not. They are my dessert.
I climb to the 23rd floor and watch all the rush hour cars stuck on the freeway. I no longer have use for a freeway. I live at work. Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah!
Lies! I don’t really live here. I am just around here enough to notice when the palm trees are temporarily moved from their regular posts in the lobby.
Last week the lobby was festooned with flowers of the sun.
Behind the roses and blur of movement is a lounge full of loungers. The loungers are attended to by Val. Today Val told me that when absinthe became legal she made her own absinthe recipe. It was a fusion that began with gin as its base because “There’s an old saying that to drink gin is to sin.” The gin was put in to help the drinker forget their day. Val added whole rosemary and named it “the absinthe minded confusion fusion.” The rosemary was to help the drinker remember the name of the drink since rosemary is supposed to help you to remember things.
This railing remembers a lot of things. 121 years worth of visitor’s names to be precise.