Free The Garneau Block by Todd Babiak

David started quoting from the street paper. But after the cleaners drove off, when Raymond’s wife and neighbours decided to have a final drink at the Sugarbowl and, according to Jonas Pond, “decompress,” Raymond decided to go his own way, and his way was clear.
    He needed a massage.
    The masseuse was a former student, a divorcée from Kamloops who tried a year of philosophy courses in 2001 to see if they might make her life more meaningful. Apparently,knowing a thing or two about the trial and death of Socrates, cogito, ergo sum , and the central argument in Mill’s On Liberty merely strengthened her determination not to think so hard. She decided there was no shame in daydreaming about Cozumel while she pressed her palms into flesh.
    Charlene the masseuse lived in a two-bedroom suite in Windsor Park Plaza, with a partial view of old Corbett Hall. Before he knew she was available, Raymond made his way westward and called her on his cellular phone.
    â€œI don’t know, Dr. Terletsky. Thursday’s my TV night.”
    â€œHow about I pay double.”
    â€œWhy would you do that?”
    â€œI just will. Say yes.”
    Charlene sighed. “Yes.”
    In the elevator, Raymond grew nervous. He always grew nervous in the few minutes before seeing Charlene. Though she was not beautiful or even pretty, Charlene had a focused stare and a disarming way of speaking that he knowingly mistook for flirtation. The door was open when he arrived, and Charlene had already changed into the loose, nursey white shirt and pants she wore when she worked.
    Instead of saying hello, Charlene bit her bottom lip when he came through the door. “I was thinking.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œHow am I supposed to fill out your receipt if you’re paying me double? I bet your health plan only covers about sixty bucks an hour.”
    â€œThe rest is a tip.”
    â€œYou’re gonna give me a sixty-dollar tip?”
    â€œYes. I am.”
    Charlene crossed her arms, tilted her head, and left him to change.
    The massage room was Charlene’s second bedroom, so the sliding closet doors were mirrors. Before he covered himself with the towel, Raymond considered his naked body in reflection. To live authentically, says Heidegger, we must learn to confront death. We must welcome it here, alone before the mirror, in the jam-and-jelly scent of our aging skin. We must appreciate that despite our broad consciousness, despite our instinctual specialness, we were born to die.
    Heidegger’s secular update of Kierkegaard’s leap of faith produces a deep and irrevocable transformation in anyone who manages to make it. In front of the mirror, relatively certain he had made the leap, Raymond comprehended the totality of existence. Then he grabbed the loose flesh around his waist and wished beyond wishing that he could just slice it off with a butcher knife.
    Charlene knocked. “Ready?”
    â€œReady.”
    The shades were down and the lights were low, the miniature fountain tinkled and The Goldberg Variations played on the tiny stereo in the corner. Charlene didn’t speak as she worked, which made Raymond think naughtier thoughts than he might have if she’d chatted about her parents or her fear of squirrels. With her slippery fingers digging into his back and then–sweet daisy–his front, Raymond had to work like an Egyptian slave to maintain decorum.
    Then, remembering Heidegger, he relaxed. He was born to die. This was an opportunity for adventure, and he really didn’t have that much time left. If he wasted this, he would waste everything.
    â€œCharlene.”
    She said nothing.
    â€œCharlene.”
    â€œShhh. No talking. It ruins the healing.”
    â€œHow much extra would it be, I mean just theoretically, if someone wanted more than a massage?”
    Charlene’s fingers halted. She cleared her throat, walked to the light switch, turned it on and exited the