"My friend P. and I agree to have lunch at a restaurant equidistant from our respective homes. A nasty rumor about P. has reached my ears. I'm not going to mention it to P., of course. That would be hurtful. But the rumor prompted me to instigate the lunch, out of a solidarity that cannot be revealed. P. turns up in what looks like a safari suit."
"The problem is my very poor memory, which is worsened by stress, which I have recently felt under a lot of. I'm dating again-dating, as in eating meals with and being interrogated by women I don't know-and at the same time I'm going through a job-application process that involves a background check, which itself involves giving my fingerprints and listing every address I've ever had and, most strange and sinister of all, stating every name and alias I've ever used."
"A thrift store has recently opened in his neighborhood. Everything there fits him. He's an XL and everything in the store is XL. 'I realized something,' P. says. 'Everyone dies when they're XL. It's the size of death. And now it's my size.' We laugh. The food, when it comes, is excellent. P. says, 'I ran into your friend Simon Morgan.'"
A lunch is arranged with friend P. at a restaurant equidistant from both homes after a nasty rumor about P. prompts the meeting. The real motive is concealed and the rumor is not mentioned. P. arrives wearing an XL thrift-store safari suit and jokes that 'everyone dies when they're XL,' prompting laughter. The meal is excellent. Memory problems, worsened by stress from dating and a job application requiring detailed background checks and aliases, complicate recognition of acquaintances. P. observes that everyone has hidden wrongdoing and also hidden good deeds, calling the latter 'light secrets.'
Read at The New Yorker
Unable to calculate read time
Collection
[
|
...
]