Friday, September 13, 2013

Now because of it is because Friday the 13th, we release the following issue: "T to 2 minus 10 Seconds to Lunch #eight"

I can't work inside cubicles, I'm just not used to it.

I know some people are used to it. And they're also used to 'desk space'. And they all want co-workers and co-partners, and someone that they need to deal with. They enjoy that sort of capsule like space moment.

"I've been beyond," man, I tell the boss as he comes into work. Spiderman's boss, I tell him I'm beyond all that shit. Don't really care anymore.

I watch him settle down in his beady little office with my beady little eyes. Heh. That's not just a mishap in my expression of prose -- this dude really has an office full of beads. I once tried to slice an orange against this guy who was clearly a porn channel for water cooler conversation:

"What's up with the beads in this boss's room, yo?" I asked, earnestly, filling my Sunkist bottle with cool, cool water.

Dude just walked away, ignoring me.

I thought we were going to make fun of the boss's obsession with beads.


Finally around twelve thirty, petty officer Charles walks in, dragging some petty whore into the jail, and he slams her straight into wall, and she splashes like so much spaghetti bolognese.


At 12:34, Charles sits in the desk in front of me and writes 'notes', apparently. He looks at me at 5 to 10 second intervals, as though I am supposed to hover over his desk and grade his fucking homework or something. At 12:45 I finally can't deal with it and tell this pompous fuck what I fucking think of him.

"You know they keep records of your books," Charles, "I tell him."

"Yeah. Cos of the Library."

At 12:49 Charles loses dietary control and must exit to unknown location. Nobody has told me where the fucking restrooms are. I laugh over at one of the other lesser detectives that has been watching me all these hours: "If only this were Detroit 1-8-7, huh?" I laugh at him.

He laughs back at me. "You wouldn't last one second in Detroit."

Charles returns and I pick up my coat. "It's time to go...officer," I tell him.

"There's no way you can go out of this," he replied. He seemed as though he was suffering from a type of vertigo...or vertebra. Whatever it was, it wasn't strong. I took my coat and walked down, out of the police precinct.

Charles followed me all the way down and out, and into the streets. It was pouring. So I led him to a coffee place that was unique and special to only my special taste. "You wait here, Mills," I told him, and I'll be out again with your *coffee* that is made for *your* taste.

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