Sunday, February 14, 2010

My dreams am crazy, yo

While the bosses were all wheeling and dealing, we sat in lawn chairs by the hoods of our cars. Typically, one should sit on the hood of one's car, but when the car is bright pink, waxed, and worth more than the average cost of rearing an American baby, one opts to sit somewhere other than it.

"I'm sick of dodging the fuzz," my fellow driver -- either Briullov or Earl Grey, I'm not sure -- said. Puff on the cigarette. "I just got an interview to join an international corporation. Pay's about the same as here."

"Yeah," I said. "The pay's like the only thing we have going our way, here. Wait. Why'd you choose to apply to an international corporation?"

Earl-Briullov-Grey looked surprised. "I have an M.B.A. I thought you knew that."

"Naw," I flicked the cigarette into the snowdrift. "I'd love to get out. Enough of all this...I could..."

A shot fired. We looked over, but it was an organized thing, everyone was still milling around. Except for the body twitching on the ground. The boss came our way. "Millie's old spot is open. E-B-G, you want it?"

He looked up at the boss and - so calmly - said, "No. I actually got a job offer in the real world. I've gotta give you my two weeks."

Boss didn't miss a beat. "Icarus?"

I looked at E-B-G, who didn't move, but from whom I could hear some emanation of thought à la "get out-you know you want to-get out," then back at the boss. "Yeah, I'll take it."

1 comment:

S.H.S said...

amazing. What kind of criminal are you/we/EG/these-mystery-people, exactly?

In real life: thought-criminals.

word verification: antie
"auntie [mame]"
"ain't he [gorgeous]"