Diary of a Loser

Training

I'm hiding, waiting in secret. I'm learning. I'm sitting in the kitchen of the millionaire's house (I'm the maid's friend and lover) – who can notice me? I'm biding my time until my personal 1917 will thunder in. But until then I scrub the rooms, or I touch up a door, or I screw in a bolt, or sew a skirt, or alter pants – I earn my keep. The wife of a lord – a visitor from London – paid me a compliment yesterday, «Such beautiful boots you have!» I wanted to reply by telling her, «What a nondescript mug you have. You and your queen too. But I kept quiet. I'm not going to insult her, I thought. What does she know about me, anyway?

A friend or lover of the same lady – a famous architect, passing through the kitchen to get his yet another drink, glanced at my hands and became ecstatic. «You have the hands of a creative person,» he proclaimed. This time I couldn't deny myself the pleasure and said – carefully and with malice that only I could appreciate: «Perhaps of a destructive person, who knows?»

That's how I walk in the midst of enemies. I learn, I sit quietly in a corner. I don't open my mouth much, I do more listening. I'm waiting, gathering my strength. Then we'll talk. At the moment, I'm in training.

And that lady from London – she even has her own elephant. I saw the picture: she's sitting on her elephant. In London.

Autumn. It's gotten cold. And at the hotel, when I get to my floor, it's dirty, warm and smells of cunt. It's even cozy. Many prostitutes live here, that's the reason.

You walk down the street, your cap on, your velvet jacket fits nicely. Well-built, you encounter the frequent glances of women. You know the reason – you look European, your face is delicate and somehow tormented. Women like that. Still, you can't use your fortune of good looks to your advantage – your accommodations are horrid: the dirty hotel. It's unlikely that a woman would go to such a place. Besides, you have no money. You can't even treat a woman to a drink – not one glass. So you trudge on.

Again, I have to wait. If I sell the book, there'll at least be some money. But until then, it's just sitting and waiting and being thankful for whatever comes your way – broads, ugly or handicapped. And sometimes, with luck, something rare happens.

Go on, talk after that about a just social structure. It will be just when sex won't depend on money:

«Hello, Madam. Do you like me?»

«I do.»

«And I like you. How much money do you have?»