Mr. S.F.P.
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Old Man Jenkins67
I walk into the men’s room and stand at the sink, staring at my face in the mirror. In the harsh fluorescent light, I’m shocked at how pale and old I look.
I splash my face with water and walk to the towel dispenser, which is empty. My hands still dripping, I go into a stall to get some toilet paper, which shreds in my fingers. I wipe my hands on my pants.
I return to the table where my boss, Mr. SFP, is waiting. When I ask for a cup of decaffeinated coffee, he calls it “a blind old bear baited by a toothless terrier,” and when my mousse arrives, he refers to it as “a white chocolate mudslide.”
I rise from the table, standing at the elevator, knowing I will quit, I can see my life spinning into an enormous set of possibilities, and living in the shadow of complete destruction.
I comfort myself by thinking that we’re all lost, all accident victims on the highway of life. We’re all parachutists whose ripcord have come loose in our hands, the map-like surface of the earth hurtling like a huge hammer against us...
The Modern Drunkard
Comments
o7
Don't smoke poisonous mushrooms, Modern Drunkard 😉
Max for CP!
[TC][#12] MP4CP
erepublik.com/en/article/2689003
[TC][#13] MP4CP #2
erepublik.com/en/article/2689516
[TC][#14] MP4CP #3
erepublik.com/en/article/2689673
[TC][#15] MP4CP #4
erepublik.com/en/article/2690005
I like the surreal quality of your writing.
I like the magnanimous and self-effacing nature of this comment.
For SURE.
Yes.
[could read this all day]
'Mr. SFP' PERSONIFIES the worst definition of 'BOSS'.