Last weekend, a neighbor of mine, who was high at the time, tried to buck me up. I could tell he was high because he was holding a lit joint in his hand, but also because he laughed loudly at every other thing I said. “Man,” he told me in between giggling and wheezing, “you’re really funny. It’s too bad you’re wasting yourself on literature. You should switch to standup.” This wasn’t the first time someone very, very high had complimented my refined sense of humor. Usually people do it somewhere between conducting a keen conversation with the ceiling lamp and falling asleep on the living room rug, which makes me take their flattery with a grain of salt. But this neighbor’s words stuck with me after he’d wobbled back to his apartment.
© 2024 Etgar Keret
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