Skunk entered the stockroom
of the bookshop where one of the cogs was already slitting the tie on the
silver-grey mailbag and tipping its content across the floor.
cog: HEY
flipping a small brown envelope into the air before Skunk.
Skunk (catching): Thanko.
cog: Shit. Nothing else of note. What’d you get?
Skunk (turning envelope over): Just a second, ehmmm...
He slit the paper with his finger and a tiny silver charm spilled
out onto his palm.
cog: What the fuck is that? What is it? Can I see it? Is
Skunk: Jesus.
Look. It’s a tiny little silver skunk, on a on ehm, on a hook, on an earring.
cog (laughing): Who’s it from? You don’t even have pierced ears, do you? Who’d send you
an earring?
Skunk (peering into the empty envelope and shrugging): Nothing. It
doesn’t say.
His break is now half over, and despite
reassurance from the bookstore cogs, he has been unable to eat either the
sandwiches or the yoghurt comprising his daily packed lunch. He is sitting in
the backroom and the jeweller’s hand fills his senses, its cracked and broken
skin, its surgical cleanliness, marking out his ear for mutilation. The
jeweller turns away to his collection of tools.
Skunk (indicating pen): For a second there I
thought you were just going to push it through with that,
cog: Ha no no no. No... I use this.
His hand grips an instrument cased in orange
plastic, not dissimilar to the pricing guns used in the bookshop. Into this he
is placing tiny objects, giving them one final wipe before fitting it around
Skunk’s ear and, after a quick snap, taking it back to his desk.
cog: That’s it.
Skunk (incredulous): That’s it? Tha-
cog: What were you expecting? It’s a sim- make
sure you turn it, you know, keep turning it, if you find yourself with nothing
to do just...
his fingers twisting at his own ear
cog: ..and keep it clean. It’s very important that
you keep it clean, and then after about six weeks or so you can take that
sleeper out and eh, you’ll have a nice sharp hole in your ear.
laughing, passing Skunk a mirror,
cog: Here, take a look.
Skunk (peering at the gold dot sitting upon his
inflamed red lobe): I thought it ehm...
and smiling
Skunk: Thanks, thanks very much, thank you.
cog: That’s okay. Just pay the lady on your way
out.
