Pilaf

To the meat-packing factory, then!

Again you cringe. This is Pilaf's current job, after her dreams of being a politician failed. How the mighty have fallen, you think to yourself, permitting yourself to feel black humor. Pilaf was always so bossy as a child, but she did always have your best interests in mind, as well as those of your friends (except Maxine, who never spoke to Pilaf, preferring your company instead). But now she is in one of the most degrading jobs known to man, an ironic twist for a girl--no, WOMAN now, you correct yourself, who always loved power.

It's all the way on the other side of the city, unfortunately, but you've got plenty of free time. You have to cover your nose part-way, this city smells AWFUL! You make a mental note to wring the necks of those state politicians who decided that this city didn't need as much funding as those who "truly deserve it." As if you people had any control over your corrupt leaders of the past!

No, you have to correct yourself again like a bad motorcycle engine, the leaders are still corrupt in Fahrenheit City; they just happen to be new leaders now.

Speaking of motorcycles, one such vehicle rather rudely breezes by you at a speed only slightly inferior to a running cheetah. It almost HITS you, but its tailwind knocks you over instead.

Suddenly, you hear a rich, deep young woman's voice, but while it's changed a little bit from age, you'd recognize it anywhere.

"Foolish punk!" the woman shouts, as you recognize her to be Pilaf, who runs up to you and shakes her fist uselessly at the cyclist. "How dare you **** the privilege of decent roads! There isn't much ELSE decent in this city for this man to enjoy, no thanks to lousy tramps like you who ruin everything!"

You burst out laughing. Still full of herself, you see, but now she is wearing a pair of blue denim overalls that smell VERY strongly of raw meat.

Pilaf turns to look at you.

"Kind visitor to our city, do not be ashamed, for this man--John, is that you?!" she suddenly shouts, dropping her arrogant facade and hastily pulling you to your feet, where she then proceeds to hug you. "It's been years! You should have come to me years before now!"

Affectionately, she hugs you more tightly, chuckling. "Foolish John, always needing me to look out for him even as a child, always needing orders to know better back then."

"You work in a friggin' meat-packing plant, and I'M the one who needs to be looked after," you say sarcastically, punching her in the shoulder good-naturedly. Your friendly banter finished, you get to more serious matters.

"I hear you're an escort now," Pilaf remarks in her slight, almost completely unnoticeable Russian accent, "a sort of 'man of the night', to paraphrase an expression."

You can only nod, because before you can say anything, a truck passes by honking its horn at another rude driver.

Pilaf winces. "I'm off from work today because it's Sunday. Can't we go someplace that isn't polluted by so much noise?"

You scratch your head in thought.

"Well, silence is hard to come by in this city," you admit, "but we could always go eat at the Petersburg Restaurant. It's quiet, and today they're serving rice pilaf..."

Pilaf becomes dreamy-eyed.

"Then, when lunchtime comes around in an hour, we should go there posthaste!" she exclaims.

You blink. In an hour? How long did you SLEEP this morning? Oh, hell, you must've accidentally set your alarm clock two hours late again. Damn confusing thing, with its wind-up mechanism and all those little ticks...

"In the meantime, tell me about your life," Pilaf asks matter-of-factly. "You're an escort, does that mean you have sex more often than other people?"

Is it your imagination, or does Pilaf sound irritated? No, she is irritated, and why wouldn't she be, since you get great pay while she's stuck in a blue-collar job.

But when you ask her this, she shakes her head. "No, it's not that. It's just, is it safe? Suppose some of your clients have a sexually-transmitted-disease or something? I'm not mad because you sometimes have sex; I'm just worried about you."

Hastily you explain to her that being an "escort" isn't just about sex. You regale her with stories of clients who just wanted a shoulder to cry on, or excellent male companionship with a sense of humor, or something.

As Pilaf listens sympathetically to your stories, your mind wanders again. Shouldn't you be meeting with your other friends? Nah, you haven't spent nearly enough time with Pilaf. You just MET her again after several years, after all! But...