Peasants! It’s me again. Well, this has been a good week. Although I have received some flack about my drawing skills (apparently I’m not good at squares) and a few heated emails concerning the usage and traditions of dreidels (it seems that the only thing I got right is that they’re spun like tops) it has been, nonetheless a good week. I have gotten some good work done for the blog, and this installment was actually finished on time! =) Who knows? Maybe this’ll become a trend. Anyway, I want to thank you again, dear readers, for coming so regularly to support my writing addiction. Thanks for reading, and come again soon. -BW
Tannenbaum looked suspiciously at the boy across the table from him who hid now behind his menu.
“Did you really spin that top to see if you and I should continue in the company of each other?” Tannenbaum asked.
“No, of course not. That would be silly. I spun the dreidel to decide what I should have for breakfast. It looks like I’m getting the pumpkin pancakes.” Quin answered. “Oh, look. They have pecan syrup too. Boy, is this a good day.”
Determining to not let the fatuous cheer of Quin to bother him, Tannenbaum studied the architectural layout of Penny’s Diner. Lennard was a dangerous man who might do anything, so the intelligent thing would be to be prepared for anything. If Tannenbaum would have had his way, he would have arrived here at the diner hours ago to scope out the situation, become chummy with the waitresses, and gain the general feel for the floorplan. Tannenbaum took note of the single door entrance, the massive windows looking out onto the street, and the surly disposition of the man behind the cash register. He made a quick study of the man’s efficient movements and rigorous mustache, and decided me must be a man of Greek descent.
Do I have any Greek blood in me? Tannenbaum thought to himself. Of course he knew down to the exact percentages of which nations his bloodline had trickled through. In his early college years, he had surveyed the entire ancestry of his university without the consent or knowledge of the student body. He smiled a smile of old memories.
“What about you?” Quin asked.
“Quin, I don’t have the time or the patience for your fatuous questions.”
Quin restacked his sugar packets.
“Are you sure that words means what you think it means? Maybe you shouldn’t use it until you’re sure of what it means.”
“Of course I know what it means.” Tannenbaum insisted.
Quin was not convinced.
“It means the same thing as silly.” Tannenbaum said.
“Then why didn’t you just use the word silly?” Quin asked.
Tannenbaum could feel his frustration mounting.
“Because silly, sounds silly. I would rather use the word fatuous.”
“At any rate,” Quin said, attempting to glaze over the discussion, “you didn’t answer my question.”
“What about you?” Quin repeated.
“What about me?”
“You asked me who I am. Now I want to know, who are you?”
The question stopped Tannenbaum flat. While most people search through the years for reason and existential meaning, he knew exactly who and why he was.
“I’m . . .” Tannenbaum began.
The waitress walked up.
“Hello, gentlemen. Can I take your order?” she said
Tune in next time for an origin story for Tannenbaum!