Reading Derrida From The Gutter

Bob

A black van emerged from around the corner, the name 'Cosmic Energy' stenciled on its side. It stopped in front of a modest looking house lost in a sea of similar, equally modest looking houses. A tall figure emerged wearing black coveralls that drown him in folds of cloth, and a matching black hat that hooded most of his face. The name 'Bob,' printed in red over a white tag, hung above his breast pocket.

He nimbly glided up to the door, and placing a long bony finger on the bell, he pressed it. Listening for a few moments to the muffled sound of something sluggishly crawling around, his imagination wandered to a large, worm-like beast sliding along in a trail of its own ectoplasm.

The door slothfully opened, wide enough for a squniting face to emerge giving its eyes time to adjust to the violence of light, and causing the purplish ovals tucked deep under them to become much deeper, like one who had arisen from a too deep sleep. Strange markings resembling carved runes covered the face. They looked like they glowed, but perhaps it was a trick of the sun. It was hard to say whether they were professionally done or self-inflicted.

A waft of fermentation struck Bob's nose, making him wince, but he immediately resumed a cordial disposition. His all teeth grin teeth, made even whiter by the black hat that still hooded his face, parted and spoke.

'Long night?'

The tall figure removed his hat, holding it to his chest. His face was young, perhaps, but he wore his skin so poorly that it looked like a loose fitting mask covering some strained, rigid, immobile expression and unwinking glassy stare. And he didn't have a hair on him -- not a single brow.

The man winced, scratching at a cluster of the strange markings on the bony ridge of his cheek, while the rest of him, whatever still lay buried in that grave light, hardly visible, squirmed. A small drop of blood started to collect. The man didn't seem to notice, so neither did Bob, who maintained a cordial disposition. But looking at the figure again, the man recognized with equal parts sadness and anxiety that certainly the face was that of a very sick person.

Bob gestured towards the van, and through his elongated grin, so elongated in fact that it made the man uncomfortable, he said, 'Congratulations! We've reviewed your application and you definitely qualify for our new energy program. I'm here to install it.'

The man wanted to say, 'no, I'm happy with what I've got,' was about to say it, but something stopped him. It would have taken too much energy, energy he couldn't spare, or at least that's what he told himself.

'And it's obvious we picked the right person too, if you don't mind my saying. We understand you're a busy person with a lot to do, and we want to make sure it gets done.'

Bob reached into his pocket, then bringing a hand forward, he slowly opened it one finger after another. Two red orbs no bigger than a marble each rested in his palm.

'Installation is easy.'

The man hesitated.

'Oh, but perhaps you don't remember. I think it would be best if you reviewed everything again -- before making any rash decisions,' Bob said, letting out a kind of apologetic hacking or whispering sound. And with that, he left.