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Water Me

08/03/2013

Water Me

“Water me” said a nicely written note that was attached to the flower pot. The waitress wasn’t sure what to do. If she doesn’t water the flower pot she surely wouldn’t be allowed to finish the shift and would never exit the restaurant. If she waters the flower pot it would surely continue its monstrous growth and block the door and she would never make it out of the restaurant. Such shameful luck, such shameful luck, said the poor waitress and sat at the bar. “Water me” she meant to say to the barman, her friend from the Neo-Kantian Philosophy class, and in a burst of resourcefulness stopped herself. If she manages to keep on feeling small and miserable enough she may just be able to sneak from underneath the door without anyone noticing her absence.

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From → Otherness, Tel Aviv

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