How much longer do you think I've got, Linsa, to entertain fantasies about Otorongo?
Probably a few more weeks, Jim.
A few more weeks? I'm up to ten thousand on this thing now. Don't you think that should buy me more than a few more weeks? I mean, the New York Times ad probably won't even appear for another five or six months.
I guess I've been entirely discredited as an oracle, huh?
Well, no, Linsa, not entirely.
The people in New York are going ape shit.
It's St. Patrick's Day.
People generally do have a lot on their minds, Jim.
Three weeks left to engage in fantasies about Otorongo.
You know spirits don't really understand time, Jim.
Here's an interpretation of that oracle, Linsa.
You don't have to tell me, since I already know.
Yes, Linsa, but I haven't thrown my voice recorder off the Golden Gate Bridge yet. So here it is. Maybe it means three more weeks total fantasizing about Otorongo. You know? That much time. Like 24 hours times 21 days.
You mean 504 hours, Jim?
Damn, Linsa. I didn't think spirits knew anything about mathematics.
Arithmetic, Jim.
So 504 fucking hours of fantasies about Otorongo left, huh? I guess that sounds about right. 30 seconds here, a minute and a half there, until they say absolutely no, we will never put Otorongo in the window of City Lights Books, and the New York Times ad has run, and the response has been thunderous silence. And Ray, my marketing consultant, is no longer calling me. And the book has sold 201 copies, and I've made -- Linsa?
$402, Jim.
Right, Linsa. Until then.
Enjoy it while it lasts, Jim.