An Interview with Saul Taliaferro
I: Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Taliaferro.
S: It's pronounced 'Tolliver', and I'd prefer if you just called me Saul.
I: I think I can manage that. Now, do you know why I asked for this interview?
S: No, I don't. I'm also thinking that it was a bad idea for me to agree to it.
I: Oh, please don't think that, Mr. Tolliver. Believe me, this will help you understand yourself.
S: Right. Like I need that sort of bullshit. I understand myself plenty fine. And besides, I told you to call me 'Saul'. You can't do that, so this interview is over.
Taliaferro stands up, grabbing his slim briefcase before angrily storming out of the small diner which he frequents. As he leaves, a waitress sets two dishes on the table.
W: Right, that's a cup of chicken soup for you, aaand the usual for Saul. He step out for a smoke?
I: I guess you could call it that. Could I get the check, as well?
W: Sure thing, hon.
Saul stormed down the street, carefully pulling a slim cigaret case from a vest pocket. "Help me understand myself," he muttered. "Who does she think she is? I don't need to understand myself."
He put a cigaret between his lips, and started fumbling for his lighter. Did he bring it with him? He couldn't remember. Maybe he left it at home? No. He loaned it to the girl at the club last night. Ugh. What a disaster. He wouldn't be able to show his face at that club for a while, at least not while the girl still lived in this city.
But all that would sort itself out shortly. He had made some calls, and found an acceptible solution to that problem later that night. Just give it a week, he thought to himself, and the girl would never set eyes on his city again. Saul glanced up, and was surprised to find himself standing outside the front door to his apartment building. He sighed heavily. This was not how he wanted to start his day.
Entering his studio apartment, he regarded the sparsely decorated room. There are no separator walls; it is completely open. His kitchen flows into his dining area, his office space creeps towards his bed. The answering machine beeps. His telephone rings, and his fax machine starts printing.
"busy busy busy," he says, to his empty empty room.
The Interviewer is driving towards her office when her cellphone rings. One hand on the wheel, she picks up the phone. Before answering, she glances at her caller ID.
Sterling, Jeff 555-6748
Her boss. Probably calling to find out how the interview went. "oh, joy," she says to herself. This is going to be interesting.
I: Yes, Boss?
J: How did it go? Did you get anything good?
I: Well, what would you consider to be 'good'?
J: I take it you didn't, eh?
I: Not really, no. Just that you pronounce his last name as 'Tolliver', he prefers being called by his first name, and he enjoys his steaks well-done. Beyond that, I got nothing.
J: *sigh* Well, that's more than we had before. Where are you right now?
I: I'm headed in to work, Boss. See you soon.
J: Right. Drive safe.
I: I will.
She hangs up the phone.