Fever Dream
7 pages
Published by
Rhianon Jameson
Copyright :
All rights reserved
Fever Dream
by Rhianon Jameson
October 2008
In another life I must have been bad
In another life I must have been real bad
Stripped down, break my pride
Straight through the other side
Rip through my memory
Nothing that I want to see
I...
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Fever Dream
by Rhianon Jameson
October 2008
In another life I must have been bad
In another life I must have been real bad
Stripped down, break my pride
Straight through the other side
Rip through my memory
Nothing that I want to see
I love the way you punish me
In another life I must have done wrong
In another life I must have done wrong
Don t tell me what I ve done
Don t see what I ve become
Ravish me, tear me down
Stub my life into the ground
I love the way you punish me
(Steve Wynn, “The Way You Punish Me”)
The day was unusually warm for late September.
I discretely blotted my brow
with my handkerchief – at least, I hoped the action was discrete – as I leaned back in my
chair.
Mr.
Donald Chisholm and I were having a cup of tea at Steamperk and I was
wondering why I felt feverish while, simultaneously, I attempted to keep up with his
explanation of how he planned to make a great deal of money in a falling real estate
market.
I was failing at both tasks.
Mr.
Chisholm was a land speculator, and had graciously agreed to give me an
hour of his time to explain his business to me for a newspaper article.
He was in his early
fifties, with a full head of hair, albeit mostly gray, and a handlebar moustache that was
inexplicably nearly jet black.
He was dressed as one might imagine a land baron to be
dressed, in a new suit from Mako Magellan’s and an ivory walking stick with a gold
knob.
Except for the moustache, which made him look a little like a theatrical villain (and
whose color was both vain and silly), he was a handsome man with an athletic build.
Although I felt I was reasonably clever with figures, his dazzling manipulation of
borrowed money, tax dodges, depreciation, ruthless foreclosures, and sheer speculation
on a further decline in the market was quite beyond me.
I took notes and nodded at what I
hoped were appropriate times.
In truth, the interview was a coup for me, as Mr.
Chisholm
preferred to operate privately and fairly anonymously.
I wondered why he would grant
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