I find myself sitting at the front desk of the Office of Human Resources at our beloved alma mater. I'm working for that minimum wage and am now pondering mutilating 19 of my neighbors' cats. There are five people who work in the office and three of them don't know I have a degree. I don't blame them; I suppose they don't know how much ambition I lack. And I do look like a twelve year-old. I'm trying rogaine on my face.
When it comes down to it I live to watch Firefly with Paul Gautier and perhaps inch closer to him on the couch as Inara and the captain bicker. Besides that I am empty and often forget to eat. I am pondering at this moment making a visit to the vending machine for some trail mix, Fruit and Nut Planter's. I am also thinking about the water fountain about fifty feet from HR. Its waters remind me of the finest springs in Ireland. As I drink from it I often perceive a touch of lemon.
I am man. Do not call me woman because I am clearly not woman, not even girl. I like the sound that the drain makes: slorp. And I have the swirl and ache from sprays of honeysuckle. Good day.
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