Sitting here in the corner from where I can observe two thirds of this L-shaped café space, I can see four laptops on the go, which makes me somewhat self-conscious with my old fashioned pad of paper and a pen in my hand. I start to imagine explaining to them that I have a laptop at home and would they prefer it if . . . but come on, leave all that, I mean grow up! The girl behind the bar is something of a stunner and when she says, ‘I’ll bring it over to you’ – the coffee, that is, I detect the American twang or drawl and I start to think, as I attempt to disengage my eyes from, I hope not staring at her, but certainly looking, of Joelle van Dyne, a character in David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest (which I might have mentioned before, once or twice). She is so stunningly beautiful that none of the guys at Boston U (except one) even think of trying to date her. To die for, is a phrase that comes to mind, or, you’ll be the death of me. This one here whose name is Zoe I notice (though it could be number seven on the alias list) from the till when she checks in to take my money. It’s pretty obvious to my sleep-walking imagination that she’s an agent (presumably from the CIA) sent to this sleepy but weird town to examine the links between local agents of subversion and their off-shore bosses and ideological gurus in the Cayman islands and it is probable that various ex-pat communities in Goa are involved too.
The traffic is heavy.
The ever polished pinker than pink Pinky is hot on the case (or wishes to appear to be) plus his variously wounded side-kick Perky who is resting in Mexico. What sort of substances is Mexico famous for? And don’t forget little Georgie (aka Ossie the Floss) who is waving a hand and holding his crotch, so you better let him go, because he’s going to wet himself any moment soon.
Meanwhile, back on the case, I will obviously reassure her when she’s brought in for questioning, that we don’t torture in this country. I will explain that this particular industry (like many others) has been outsourced, transferred off-shore, no longer made in Britain, that the extent of our interrogation techniques is to say, please, pretty please. This, as you will be aware, is what we are taught, parrot fashion, to repeat ad infinitum, from a very young age, even in utero: please don’t kick like that, darling, I’m your mother.
All I can hope is that she doesn’t take her clothes off because I believe I would then be lost. In fact I think two of us should interrogate her. Perhaps Butler is available. A suitably subtle but sharp mind. And if she’s out of town I wonder if somebody can locate Carson? Myself, I think I’ll have a little siesta. It’s been a long morning.