Low Rents of Arabia

JunkThief had not heard from Vivian [not his legal name] in a long while, at least not since January or February. So he was a bit surprised by her chatty "whatcha up too?" greeting. "I'm working," JunkThief replied, a bit perturbed that the call came in on his office line.

"Is this your work number? You have so many, I can't keep up. How many do you have now?"

"Four if you count Skype."

"Oh, JunkThief. You're so connected," Vivian railed. "You're at the meat of it, baby."

"It's easier if you call my cell or home number."

"Oh, whatever, I just wanted to say hi. Does your non-profit still work in Egypt?"

"Still? We've not been there since the 1960s," JunkThief said.

"Really? I could swear I remember you going there."

"No, not for work," JunkThief said.

"Mmm...okay. Vince and I are planning to go there and I thought you might have some suggestions. I'm dying to see the pyramids but don't want to die seeing them if you get my drift."

"Like a huge drift of sand."

"Oh, JunkThief, you're such a card. I just thought you might have some suggestions of something plush and not over $200 a night."

"In Cairo?" JunkThief replied.

"Yes, in fucking Cairo! I'm not planning to go to some camel farm."

"No, I don't know off hand. I could suggest some tour operators, if you like."

"So, when are you coming to San Diego?"

"Sometime."

"I get the distinct feeling you don't like San Diego sometimes. Remember when I lived in Bonsall and we went over to the Capri Lounge in Oceanside?"

"Yes," said JunkThief.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I remember it."

"Well, you're not very chatty today."

"I'm working," JunkThief said.

"Oh, get over it. I'll find my own fucking room on Orbitz!"