You can count me out. Everybody knows he's not my favorite person. I'm not debating that.
Take the way he eats: He makes these noises. He SINGS the chewing. It sounds sort of charming right at this moment, but in point of fact it's gross. Nobody wants to hear a turkey dinner set to Ave Maria. Two weeks planning a meal, you want a moment of silence. Some good old-fashioned reverence. What's happened to that -- what is it -- an emotion? These days, it's gone.
As I said, I don't like the man. But I also don't like crows...
Boxes upon boxes upon boxes upon boxes.
Buried beneath more boxes and found deep below
even more boxes. We've built our lives around such
boxes. Filling them with such weighty things, keeping
them around because we're afraid to toss them and
who knows if we'll need their contents again
sometime in the future? We've built castles with these
boxes, making them larger and stronger fortresses
each day, stacking them on top of each other, careful
to not knock anyone else over. I, on the other hand,
don't like to keep boxes. They're too square and uncomfortable.
They remind me of...
"Hello?"
There was nothing on the other end of the line but silence. "Hey, can you here me? Is anyone there?" Martin waited. "I didn't imagine it, did I?" He hung up. He grabbed his bag of food, and went outside, when he stopped for a moment, then turned back to the cash register and emptied it. Besides about $200 there was also an old picture inside, showing three women. Martin inspected the time stamp. Sept. 20th 1922. Just then, he heard a "BING..." as the atomatic doors opend.
Why didn't you hear me when I called? Or did I not hear you hearing me? Is that possible? I guess anything's possible these days. Just turn on anything. Better yet, try turning something off. Good luck. I think the whirring sound above may have something to do with your leaving, but I've been wrong before. Please give a sign. I'll just stand here. No wait, I'll stand here instead. How's this? Is this far enough to be safe? Look, I'm not even waving my arms. I'm simply here for you and your lazy gesture. How many have made that...
We are plagued, wretched, cursed...
doomed to be followed by the multitude, hounded by paparazzi, our flesh peddled to feed the teeming multitudes who wish to consume every morsel of our existence.
Our every action scrutinized, our every facial expression or turn of phrase. Is it any wonder we act so... so... is it any wonder? Put any normal person under this sort of microscope, they would doubtless appear as insane as ourselves.
Of course, there is the whole nasty business of inbreeding. Keeping the gene pool pure? Hardly. Rather limiting it to royalty has caused countless genetic problems; our...
The zephyr through the thin strands of hair on his forehead produced a little fandango; the wind brought the music and the sun brought the party.
The Queen had personally requested his presence for the opening of this exhibition, it was meant to show the culture, the class, of the kingdom.
But this Bohemian was not here at some petty whim of Her Majesty. He was here for something more majestic than any monarch, that most glittering, glamorous goal. He was here for a girl.
Golden hair, blue eyes, red lips, petite smile; a man would kill for such a...
£18000. The figure flashed through his mind as he drove to work. Quite a sum but not above what many were willing to pay. He wondered if he should up his price, expand the business. He smirked as he parked and pulled on his gloves, He checked his watch and took his time getting his tools from the back of the car. Calm, assured, he had every detail planned so on the job he didn't have to think. He wondered who it was today. He checked his notes; female. He briefly considered what she'd done to piss her husband off...
"Wait, so he hit you?"
I nodded furiously, still trying to chew what was left in my mouth before retelling the all-to-famous story of how "Yes, he hit me." No one every seemed to believe me.
But it happened. No kidding. It really happened. He hit me.
Not that I would tell anyone. Ya know, other than my best friends.
Okay, so a lot of people.
It's not a big deal. I swear.
So this is how it goes. Or at least, how I remember it. . .
I was in the backyard, wading my feet in the pool...
I couldn't sleep with her next to me. And the funniest thing is, I'd been waiting for this moment for three years. Margaret, me, alone in Randy's apartment all night. Was she even asleep? Was she playing possum? I held my breath to see if I could hear her sleeping. But Randy's air conditioner was too loud, and Randy was clearly snoring in the loft bed. I shifted on the couch. My skin had stuck to it; it felt and sounded like I'd ripped a bandaid off.
Margaret didn't move. She had to have heard it. I determined she must...
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take.
Clearly, it was better not to have to work for such a person. But on the other hand, if he left, he'd be leaving his co-workers to face her incompetence and maltemper himself.
What was he supposed to do? He had "Assistant Manager" on his resume now, it'd be easy for him to find other work. But over the past 6 months, he'd become good friends with a lot of his employees, who were all fun, smart people.
But, but he looked for another job. And he...