"Sit down, shut up, and listen!" Jim was fond of saying.
He was a Synanon graduate who believed in AA like a born-again Christian.

Three meetings a week: another dictum of his.
Coincidentally that's the same number the court prescribes.

A meter maid gave Jim a ticket for parking his wine-red Jaguar
in front of a dry-cleaners in a no-parking zone.
"The lousy cunt," he said.

If I were a meter maid, looking to give my quota of tickets, I'd certainly cite a big man with his beard neatly combed and parted down the center getting out of a perfect Jaguar sedan, illegally-parked. He must've spent hours organizing his beard like that.

While he talked, I covered my mouth and grimaced ambiguously, and looked not at him, but at the huge orange and white goldfish that swam in circles, alone, in an octagonal tank beside me.

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