Free Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow by Faïza Guène Page A

massive, supermenacing Doberman and a bubble that says BEWARE OF THE DOG! , while everyone knows that in the house is a toy poodle named Gramps who gets panic attacks from children and flies.

Monday, at Mme Burlaud's, it wasn't at all like normal. Right away when I got there, she told me to make myself comfortable and then she went out of the office saying: "I'll be right back!" like for the commercial breaks of variety shows. She didn't come back until twenty minutes later ... and I noticed she smelled like alcohol. Real strong. Well, that really was nothing ... During the session, I didn't have much to say so at one point she crossed her short little legs and went: "Maybe you've got a funny story to tell me?" At that moment I noticed she was wearing garters. I looked back and forth between her face and her garters and thought that this wasn't bad for a joke. Then she asked me thousands of questions about Mom, nosy stuff about her love life and everything ... I told her she didn't have one anymore since he left. Mme Burlaud, she wanted to know if I could see Mom making a new life with another man. Yeah, I can see that. To tell you the truth, I'm planning it...

    I watched a show about singles and new ways to meet people. There's this thing called speed dating. That means something is really fast. I know because at Speed Burger, you order your hamburger and it's ready in two minutes, plus it's 100 percent halal. Basically, these speed dates, they're like arranged meetings. For seven minutes you sit facing somebody you don't know. Just long enough to say: "I don't like your face" or "Do you still live with your mom?" Only I can't see Mom in a place like that. I don't really believe she'll get together with someone again. I was saying it just because I'd like her to, that's all.
    Unless someone came directly to the house to ask for her hand in marriage. Trouble is that now, she's hardly ever home, apart from this month because her training stops during summer vacation. I'm going to stick up her office hours on the door like at the doctor's, with our requirements listed.
Alcoholics, old men, cowards need not apply.

Thank you in advance.
    Preferably: Hard worker, cultured, witty, charming,

good teeth, stamp collector, and lover of canned,

peeled tomatoes.
    Yeah, OK, I was kind of overly harsh with the old men part, but definitely no alcoholics. I never again want to have to wait outside Constantinois, the bar in the town square, so some man can finish knocking it back and I can take him home because he doesn't remember the way when he's drunk. Or prostituting my pride at the Sidi Mohamed Market buying cases of beer during Ramadan and lugging the empty bottles down to the recycling bins afterward. When the bottles smashed inside the bins, it made so much noise that everybody in our building knew how many bottles Dad had downed. With all the glass that was recycled thanks to him, he could have earned a merit of honor medal or become a mascot for the Green Party. I'd have given anything to trade my father for Tony Danza in
Who's the Boss?
but he was already taken. I don't think it's even possible now, with nothing to trade.

Hamoudi was really liking that job. And he was beginning to like living by the law. But they fired him because things were disappearing from the warehouse. At least six thousand euros worth of material and it was Hamoudi who got the blame. Not even his parents believed him when he denied it. They're convinced he's a good-for-nothing and keep telling him so.
    Anyway, I believed him. "I don't give a shit, I'm clean, I've got nothing to be sorry for, I did a good job, and I didn't fall asleep once. Only thing they can hold against me is this filthy face..." He pointed to himself, eyes wide open. I didn't dare tell him he
was handsome. I was scared he'd think something. Hamoudi, he's got really dark brown hair, clear enough skin, and big hazel eyes ... A real Mediterranean man. He says that's why they unfairly