Litter Box

All of a sudden I hear someone scream in an adjacent office...
—Daniel Dolinov

"What happened!"

"A fly!"

"A what?"

"A fly! A fly!"

"..."

"In my office! Shit! Shit! You have no idea—"

"OK, OK... Breathe in..."

"..."

"...Out..."

"..."

"Now, try to explain for me."

"I—I... All right, I was going through the schedule for Finance, when I hear this buzzing. I raise my eyes and I see this fly—dirty little thing just standing there on my desk. I waved my hand towards it but it didn't fly away; dumb thing just rubbed its legs, wasn't afraid of me. So I took a piece of paper, rolled it tight and stood up to reach it when..."

"Yeah?"

"..."

"What!"

"Shit! What's going on here? Come."

"Huh, what?"

"Come! I need you to to tell me what this is."

I know that people are afraid of snakes, mice and other rodents, but I never heard of fly phobia...
—Daniel Dolinov

"There!"

"Hmm... Pretty still for a fly..."

"Dirty piece of...! I'm sorry, I just..."

"Here, let me get that paper."

"Hey..."

"Look at it—just staring at me and rubbing its legs."

"Uh... Wait, maybe—"

"OK, this should do it."

"'...Un día Blackie se fue, se aburrió de mi verbosidad zoológica, salió por la puerta como un cometa, con una cauda de cargadores que sacaban la mejor parte del mobiliario.'"

"Fuck!"

"Eeeee!"

Maybe she screamed when she heard the fly saying: "Help me! Help me!"
—Charly Z

"'Apenas acababa de irse la cauda aquella cuando salí rumbo a un almacén que queda cerca. Sentí la necesidad de robárme un suéter.'"

"Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck."

"What. Is. It!"

"'Todavía quedaban, en el tejido espacial del edificio, partículas del cometa, un trozo de cartón, un polvillo cósmico que bien podía confundirse con tierra de maceta, medio platón refractario: se había roto y flotaba sin rumbo en el vacío espacial, entre dos pisos.'"

"Spanish."

"Huh?"

"It's Spanish. That piece of crap is talking Spanish!"

"'Aprovechando la ausencia de gravedad bajé la escalera a grandes saltos. Caminé hasta el almacén ya con los pies bien puestos sobre la Tierra. Siempre robo en mis cinco sentidos...'"

I think it would have been more freaky if the fly started to recite an obscure Robert Burns poem or the introduction to the Genealogy of Morals.
—Daniel Dolinov

"What's it saying?"

"I don't know."

"Fragmento de La mujer que tenía los pies feos, de Jordi Soler."

"Hey, David! Are you the one working on the Mexican account?"

That wouldn't have been freaky: that would have been money in the bank.
—Charly Z