Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Behind the desk tonight, Brian wears a tie of narrow stripes alternating textured worsted wool grey and stormy blue. He dreaded these stuffy, awful meetings. Once they were mercifully over, he never knew what, if anything was accomplished. It was like a funeral for Time. And Language. Everyone sat there, wearing subdued, somber suits and talking in measured, serious tones about...what? Even the women wore suits. Hell, even the water pitchers wore suits. He longed to shake things up: bring a squirt gun, wear teeshirt and Bermudas, say things like, "Yo!" and "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!". But, here it was, the second Tuesday of the month, and he had put on his grey suit and tasteful tie and his aura of funereal decorum and felt his footsteps dragging toward the double doors.
Brought to Life by Nance at 10:00 PM