The Baltimore Drive-by, Part VIII: After overwrought heartstring-tugger, anguished journalist asks, "Why?"
Ex-journalist Nix Kauffman flees Baltimore ahead of two authors with crime on their minds. But don't believe a word he says. It's fiction. It never happened.
The waiter brought another round. "Cheerio, mates!"
"Knob!" muttered Romar, but he said it with affection; the waiter's English accent was good. Or maybe it just sounded that way to me. After six gin and tonics, my head had become a giant buzzing wad of wet cotton. The waiter might have sounded Australian. Or from the Midwest.
"You got a few hours?" I asked – Romar, not the waiter – "because I'll tell you."
"Tell it!"
"One night I'm in the sports department, and this story says the Ravens' quarterback shattered his knee. Thing is, he'd torn a ligament. Torn, not shattered! So I tell the night editor, but he looks at me like I was from Mars. Then this reporter says, `It's a matter of semantics.'"
I smacked the table as hard as Romar had. "Well, yeah, it goddamn was. Semantics. Meaning. You figure out what you want to say, you choose the right word, you say it."
"Let me guess who this night editor was: Your old friend, Mr. Joss."
"Too damn right. J-bloody-oss. Same Jimmy Joss who became editor twelve years later and fired my ass. Said I showed him up in front of President Obama." I slumped back in the metal lawn chair and took a contemplative sip of gin.
"An outrage, my friend. Obama was only running for president when you showed Joss up."
"Tosser!" I shot a wadded napkin at him. This was a man I could work with.
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(Read all of "The Baltimore Drive-by" so far here.)
© Peter Rozovsky 2008
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The waiter brought another round. "Cheerio, mates!"
"Knob!" muttered Romar, but he said it with affection; the waiter's English accent was good. Or maybe it just sounded that way to me. After six gin and tonics, my head had become a giant buzzing wad of wet cotton. The waiter might have sounded Australian. Or from the Midwest.
"You got a few hours?" I asked – Romar, not the waiter – "because I'll tell you."
"Tell it!"
"One night I'm in the sports department, and this story says the Ravens' quarterback shattered his knee. Thing is, he'd torn a ligament. Torn, not shattered! So I tell the night editor, but he looks at me like I was from Mars. Then this reporter says, `It's a matter of semantics.'"
I smacked the table as hard as Romar had. "Well, yeah, it goddamn was. Semantics. Meaning. You figure out what you want to say, you choose the right word, you say it."
"Let me guess who this night editor was: Your old friend, Mr. Joss."
"Too damn right. J-bloody-oss. Same Jimmy Joss who became editor twelve years later and fired my ass. Said I showed him up in front of President Obama." I slumped back in the metal lawn chair and took a contemplative sip of gin.
"An outrage, my friend. Obama was only running for president when you showed Joss up."
"Tosser!" I shot a wadded napkin at him. This was a man I could work with.
=============================
(Read all of "The Baltimore Drive-by" so far here.)
© Peter Rozovsky 2008
Labels: The Baltimore Drive-by
posted by Peter Rozovsky at 4:02 AM
2 Comments:
Oh my goodness, my brain is working too quickly or too slowly.
Take your pick. I read waiter, and thought Cheerios followed!
Fun read, Peter! Happy New Year!
"Oh my goodness, my brain is working too quickly or too slowly."
There is a third alternative: An omitted comma may have caused your confusion. I have now inserted the comma, so you and your brain are on their own.
Thanks, and Happy New Year to you, too.
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