"I lost my eye in the showers" - he nags the dwindling numbers of his
unwilling interlocutors. They heard it all before - the tale of Maurice
and his magnificent porcelain ball that cost him 5000 New Israeli
shekels.
"I was scared, so I pretended to be violent, so they became afraid of
me. Everyone knew that I am not to be messed with!"
Maurice recounts to me his prime: replete with eye, a serviceable leg,
and human form.
Now he frequents only hookers. He calls them "escort girls". They have
been escorting him a long time now and he is a heaving cyclopaedia of
their addresses, official prices, negotiating tactics, and final
offers. "Half an hour" - he lectures me - "and you can come but once.
So you better masturbate before. But you can still strike a bargain
with them even if it happens."
He finds them pretty. As far as he is concerned, they are all
attractive and stunning and he keeps wondering aloud why they ended up
in bed with him. He relishes his good fortune and frequents their
cubicles and sweaty cots. "In Haifa, some of them do it for 50
shekels!" - he gasps incredulously.
Maurice does not neglect his physical exercises.
"Am I triangular?" - he demands to know, swerving on his healthy limb,
a dented nakedness, we are in the showers, avoiding effluence.
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