Well hello there, darling.

May 20, 2009

11:39 in the AM. You know what all us office folks are thinking. Lunch. Newspaper. A taste of wind when no one is looking. My gal just got a tomato plant. Come help it, she says. The parking tickets sit on the desk pleading to be paid, the whining bastards. Someone wants twleve grand. Someone wants to sell me toner, hotel stays, light bulbs. The pistols cock and point on the wall. Machines are humming on the left and right. The accountant is talking contracts, the executive producer is watching TV and the producer has cut his long locks and dreams of something a tad more than his Microsoft Mom-is-juggling-non-union stripped budget advirts. “Everything collapses” I hear him say into the phone. He’s getting balder like an old Samson. We need twins today. I’m on. No I’m not. Fuck eight hour slots we need them till the sun is gone. Find the studio teacher who is flexible. Who knows what I’m doing. Or supposed to be doing. Waiting for the next boards. Waiting for the tow trucks. Waiting for the first pitch. Thinking about the trees and street-car tracks in San Fransisco.


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