TIS02 (Dec 4, 1988)
Summary of Receipt
Summary
Transcript
DINER RECEIPT
RECEIPT NUMBER: TIS02
RECEIPT DATE: 12 4 1988
MANAGER TITLE: TRUSTED ASSOCIATE
RECEIPT NOTES:
Ah, la dame, I can’t wait to see how you’ve transformed the Cafe! From my current dwelling—of which I will share very few details—I can tell you it’s cramped, the curtains are drawn, and the air reeks of stale coffee. Not exactly holly or jolly, I’m afraid, but still preferable to having my tongue cut out by the Zulus. A joke, of course. They do far worse than that to defectors, eh?
Still, I find myself troubled by Baltimore’s resistance to the spirit of the season. Forget the corporate fluff, eh? And let’s sidestep the religious connotations, given our… associations. His bah-humbuggery reminds me far too much of the Cold.
At its heart, winter is a bitterly cold stretch of months. So much less so with a belly full of warm gumbo and fresh beignets. I remember many Christmases back home—always my favorite time of year. Spring in New Orleans was too bombastic, with Mardi Gras filling the air. Lent never did much to truly calm the revelry, which often stretched well into summer’s sticky heat. Then fall would come, and things would begin to soften—but never as much as they did in the dead of winter. Those bitter cold nights seemed to creep in just after lunch and linger as though settling in for a long stay. It sounds dreadful, doesn’t it?
A cold, cold inevitability. I’m speaking metaphorically, mon nouvel ami. Truthfully, New Orleans doesn’t get terribly cold in winter, nor does Southern California. But I think you understand my meaning. Cold. Fate. And Phantom, Wicked, Secret—they are as inevitable as the seasons. The Cold Elders are forces older than old, beyond our control. But what can we control, mon nouvel ami? How we spend our time together.
—Yes, I see the irony in saying that while I’m holed up in an undisclosed location very, very far (or perhaps, quite near?) to the Cafe, away from all of you. But it’s a temporary separation, no? I’ll be back as soon as the vultures of Secret fly back up north. When I return, I won’t just expect coffee. No, no. I’ll want a warm cup of cocoa and a roaring fire waiting for Papa Noël.