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>was getting into a stew through a silence which was humanly impossible to tell whether it was that of radio or grave. Had it bothered her that, while it hadn’t even been half a week since they met, he had unacceptably rushed to message her, or may-be that he had unjustifiably put off doing so for three and a half whole days? Could she have, additionally, found it to be incomprehensibly simplistic, unusually predictable, unpredictably common, profoundly shal-low, deeply superficial, or, on the contrary, somewhat too deep for her taste? In all likelihood, she might’ve even screwed her face up at the sight of the final X, too much familiarity and intimacy wasn’t her thing, a ‘‘give him an inch and he will take a mile’’escaping her, and “hands off” warning him with her muteness. But in any case, if ever she were to read it, which would require her firstly to not only personally receive

+ as metaphysical as the one that, after a night pregnant with developments, as soon as he turned his mobile phone on the next morning, her SMS would inevitably pop up on his screen.

Are you pulling my leg?

Simos Panopoulos - Look at that

74

it, but secondly, for it to be technically both easy-to-read and readable, there were only three probabilities: she wanted to reply but couldn’t, she could but didn’t want to, or she neither wanted to nor could.

It had been twenty-five whole minutes by now though. But, of course! How could he not have thought of this? Why on earth would it take Lola half the time to reply than it took him to write a whole SMS? If any-thing, the more she delayed the more it suggested that she wasn’t taking the whole thing light-heartedly at all. He imagined her frantically typing her phrases on her phone, getting annoyed at her inability to exhibit any originality and imagination, losing her head with her sense of humor that let her down every time she needed it the most, deleting her words again and again maniacally and finally adopting a more neutral formu-la to make sure that she didn’t give him any reason to misunderstand her or accuse her of being so arrogant-ly confident that she had him in the palm of her hand, reading it all over again, scared shitless of putting him off with a slip-up.

In the meantime, he checked his own message just in case, because a slip-up was all that he needed now, a tiny slip of the tongue for example that Lola, thanks to the psychoanalyst hiding inside of her, would not fail

+ not show up, in other words, as just plain gibberish or gobbledygook.

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