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Fiction

22 December 2010

At 62, Dick had held five jobs, been fired from all of them, and was now settling nervously into a sixth. If anyone cared to investigate the cause of these curtailments, and few did, they’d have discovered he had not always been wholly to blame, but by the time of the third or fourth blow, he’d grown incompetent almost to gratify expectation. More…

“Excuse me … . Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I think we’ve got it just right now, though.” He saw that she was holding his coat, which seemed to be covered with some sort of gravy. “Your photographer’s just switching lenses, and then I think we’re done. You’ve both done a great job, though. We had no idea. Thank you for putting so much thought behind it.” More…