Well, he agitates

     She isn't really listening. 

     "What's he do?" she asks again.

      Maybe she won't let go of it until I discover the right answer, like a game with nouns and synonyms. 

      "He ... well, he agitates," I tell her.

      "Is that some kind of factory work?"

      "Not exactly, no, it's not a nine-to-five job or anything ... "

      She lets the magazine fall, now, cockers her head to one side, and stares at me without blinking her cold yellow eyes. She has the look of a hawk, of a person who can see into the future but won't tell you about it.  She's lost business for staring at customers, but she doesn't care.

       "Are you telling me that he doesn't ... " Here she shakes her head twice, slowly, from one side to the other, without removing me from her stare. "That he doesn't have regular work?"

       "Oh, what's the matter anyway?" I say roughly.

Louise Erdrich