Like A One Minute Story
I'm not made of putty. I know how to get a grip on myself. Long years of assiduous labor, the recognition of my achievements, my entire future, in fact, hung in the balance, but I kept a straight face.
"I am an animal artist," I said.
"What can you do?" the impresario asked.
"I can imitate the song of birds".
"I am sorry," the impresario said. "That's old hat".
"Old hat? The cooing of the dove? The piping of the reed sparrow? The warbling of the quail? The trill of the nightingale?"
"Passé," the impresario said supressing a yawn.
"Good bye then," I said with all the politeness I could muster, turned around, and flew out the open window.
"I am an animal artist," I said.
"What can you do?" the impresario asked.
"I can imitate the song of birds".
"I am sorry," the impresario said. "That's old hat".
"Old hat? The cooing of the dove? The piping of the reed sparrow? The warbling of the quail? The trill of the nightingale?"
"Passé," the impresario said supressing a yawn.
"Good bye then," I said with all the politeness I could muster, turned around, and flew out the open window.
'Professional Pride'
István Örkény
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