South Carolina's senior senator turns up in the most interesting places*:
Then it clicked home, as such things usually did if you didn't push too hard. It was the rug. What he thought of as his Not Lindsey rug.
About five feet long and two wide, Not Lindsey was a repeating diamond pattern in blue, red, white and brown. He had bought it in Baghdad, but had been assured by an Iraqi policeman he trusted that is was of Kurdish manufacture. "Very old, very beautiful," the policeman had said. His name was Latif al-Khaliq Hassan. A good troop. "Look Turkey, but no-no-no." Big grin. White teeth. A week after that day in the marketplace,a sniper's bullet had blown Latif al-Khaliq Hassan's brains right out through the back of his head. "Not Turkey, Iraq!"
The rug merchant wore a yellow tee shirt that had said DON'T SHOOT ME, I'M ONLY THE PIANO PLAYER. Latif listened to him, nodding. They laughed together. Then the merchant had made a startlingly American jackoff gesture and they laughed even harder.
"What was that about?" Barbie asked.
"He says American senator bought five like these. Lindsey Graham. Five rug, five hundred dollar. Five hundred out front, for press. More o n the down-low. But all senator rug fake. Yes-yes-yes. This one not fake, this one real. I, Latif Hassan, tell you this, Barbie. Not Lindsey Graham rug."
Latif had raised his hand and Barbie slapped him five. That had been a good day. Hot, but good. He had bought the rug for two hundred dollars American and an all-territories Coby DVD player. Not Lindsey was his one souvenir of Iraq, and he never stepped on it. He always stepped around it....
He hadn't stepped on it, he was superstitious about that, he always detoured around it, as if to step on it would activate some computer in Washington and he would find himself back in Baghdad or fucking Fallujah. But somebody had, because Not Lindsay Was mussed. Wrinkled. And a little crooked. It had been perfectly straight when he left this morning, a thousand years ago.
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* Possible genesis of the story here.
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