He said it doesn’t look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
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‘He said are you a religious man do you kneel down / in forest groves and let yourself ask for help.’
He said it doesn’t look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
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‘I think there should be a National Service of Hospitality. The best way to see the true face of humanity is to serve it a plate of chips.’
Camilla Grudova on bad-mannered customers.
‘Anyone who has ever worked night shifts will understand the vertiginous feeling that comes with staring down the day from the wrong end.’
A.K. Blakemore on working nights.
‘I was constantly reading job ads, trying to find my holy grail – a job I could stand to do, and someone foolish enough to hire me.’
Sandra Newman on learning how to play professional blackjack.
‘I loved being a receptionist. What I loved about it was playing the part of being a receptionist.’
Emily Berry on being a temporary office worker.
‘Every part of you would swell, including your eyeballs, and no matter how much water you drank, you were always dehydrated.’
Junot Díaz on working for a steel mill.
Raymond Carver (1938–1988) was an American poet and short-story writer. His works include Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love and Cathedral, which was a finalist for the 1984 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. His work has been translated into more than twenty languages.
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‘She watched me as I wrote out a cheque for the three months’ rent. Later, back at the motel, in bed, she lay with her hand on her forehead and said, “I envy your wife.”’
Fiction by Raymond Carver.
‘But when I look again at this picture that was taken three years ago in London, after a fiction reading, my heart moves, and I'm nearly fooled into thinking that friendship is a permanent thing.’
‘Vicky says I’m crazy. She said worse things too last night. But who could blame her?’
‘June was summer nights and days, graduations, my wedding anniversary, the birthday of one of my children. June wasn't a month your father died in.’
‘Yell defiance until his chest hurt, at the hawks that circled and circled over the meadow.’
‘If provincial life still exists, it does so only residually and is doomed to eventual extinction.’
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