Tzeporah 5

As month follows month, Tzeporah soon becomes the least favorite time of my week. Why? Lotta reasons.
She smokes, too much, she, her clothes, drapes, furniture and carpet reeks. Too many overflowing ashtrays.
I prefer flat surfaces such as desk top, kitchen counter or table to be free of debris, so they can be used for stated purpose. Clutter makes my skin crawl, especially when covered with dust.
The kitchen is so filthy I would not trust a glass of water in that place.
She plays music, too loud; whereas I prefer silence.
But underlying it all, she is the enemy and my prejudices simply do not vanish.
So, why do I keep going, it being so pointless? Is not all of life?
It happened the first real spring day. I walked out after buying a $10 phone card, decided to visit the sidewalk cafe area. Just my bad luck, I ran into Tzeporah and her friend, a face vaguely familiar, whose name is given as Karen.
Smart ass look, Karen says, "I was really surprised to hear you are still alive. Lotta people around who would like to change that."
Bor-ring, how many times have I been obliquely threatened by these people? She continues with the by now familiar, "that of course is only for the truly ignorant. I'm smart enough to know the consequences."
I nod vaguely, regret my sidewalk cafe impulse.
Karen continues, "even more surprising, imagine you and Tzeporah screwing! Of course I bet it wasn't so."
What an idiot!
"Of course to pay my bet, I'll have to watch."
"Go to hell," I reply, "only way you watch is tied to a chair." (no kinky intent meant, purely I didn't want her to use her cell as camera and splash my face all over You Tube.)
She laughs, "you old devil, what a way you have. Be there with bells on my feet."
I groan inwardly, but what can you do?