Boredom in the Office
I am sitting in my cubicle at work, which is lined with curtainy fabric colored in light khaki with some kind of stair-stepping plaid that looks like a whole lotta dropped stitches. It would be a rectangular box, about ten feet by six feet, enough to fit the bodies of 25 bored engineers piled up like haddock on ice. Yeah, I'm bored. I've been outside to watch the geese and the smokers and the shapeless cloud cover.  I've been to the little Johnny room and stood keeping my chin off the condensing urinal pipes waiting in the stir for that final tinkle.  I've visited the other half of the floor our offices are on. Some time ago they had it open and I mean wide open, like with nothing but three vast glass filled walls, dusty floors and exhausted piping hanging from the ceiling. There were suits tramping around, their chins saddled in the thoughtful lap of their hands. When they dispersed and the host was ushering them out of the building,

"Oh yes, we have all the Italian fabrics and the Spanish fixtures and the American will to do it for you. I'll fax you a copy of the artists rendering. You'll be bowled over. It is such a crush, I tell you." The reluctant elevator closes its doors on them. 

I sneak into the vacant room and rig a forgotten door so that I can come and go as I please in the future, like late at night when the host is asleep and dreaming of his precious unmolested space. Ha! Little do they know that I've assaulted their space and indulged myself in fantasies so outrageous that they'd be well ranked in the pages of that fantasy book of records they got over there somewhere in New York. For example, I made myself into a celebrity and I stood addressing the celebrity board, where American Gods are approved. It was like shooting weasels in a cage. They loved me. I didn't even have to remove any clothes. You see, first I did my Church of the Latter Day Confucionists routine and spouted epigrams like a Roman Candle.  I told them that Latter Day Confucionists are not content to simply recite a fat man's sayings, they must go out into the world and declare the reformation of the sayings. For example, Confucius say "Wise men learn more from fools than fools from the wise." Well, by simple new math substitution rules this phrase can be applied to any rank-able thing. 

"Let's try it, my friends." I said as though it were a revival and not an act of political chicanery. Picture a frothy Gerry Falwell spitting and hissing from the bottom of his gut.

"My friends, its easy. You too can gain knowledge and insight and improve your chances of immortality. Try it with me. Start with the big man and the little man, repeat after me, 'The big man learns more from the small man than the small man learns from the big man.' Yes, its true. And what about the refrigerators? Yes, say it with me, The cold refrigerator learns more from the warm refrigerator than the warm refrigerator learns from the cold one! Say Amen!"

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Short Story
writing Humbert
I like literary fiction and hysterical realism.
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What goes through the mind of those who push papers.