Daily Turmoil

TWO

Sitting on top of my desk in the office of the student-run newspaper, The Weekly Rag, an ass-kissing deuschebag who I thought for sure graduated last year has called a mandatory-meeting for anybody working for or hoping to be a part of this year’s staff and it’s getting late, after seven, and there’s twenty or more students crammed together in this small space and out of the twenty I recognize maybe half but only six of them were with us last year and I sigh louder than I mean to and it echoes throughout the room during a lengthy silence. This brings unwanted attention and even with my eyes closed I could feel some staring at me while I chew on a piece of Nicorette gum and lightly tap my feet against the side of the desk.

“Christian.” It comes from somewhere and I scan the room, finally…

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