One Call Does it All
Future? Collage, 2023. vivajoyriot Len Pelaratti’s bulky rectangular frame, wrapped loosely in a frayed, once-midnight blue velour robe, fills his doorway. He clears his throat with a gusty emphatic aHEM. His 80/20 salt -to-pepper ratio head recoils and he juts his chin in an unconscious tic. He doesn't want to move from the doorway. He doesn’t want to move at all. “Pelaratti, how many years have you been a tenant in my building?” He’s unaccustomed to the expectation of providing answers. He’s much better at demanding them, at hiding in wait for the other person to reveal a flaw, a dropped stitch in their logic, a hairline fracture in their argument. At the short but brilliant zenith of his career, he could make a witness squirm with a single question, and break into a full sweat with two. Back then, judges dreaded his name on the docket, so merciless was his approach - crucifying perfectly justified plaintiffs to their seats with their own words. I know this about him, and k
