Tones in the City

It’s my first day today! Oh, how excited I am. My energy mirrors that of a little kid on his first day of school. One last glance over at my image: hair slicked into perfect shape, not a strand out of place. Perfect. Pressed suit, neatly folded tie, shiny new shoes. I’m the epitome of class. Briefcase. Can’t forget my briefcase. Absolutely can’t forget my new prized possession, my shiny plastic ID badge. Open my apartment door, address the world with poise. I feel like I’m stepping out of my apartment and into The Sound Of Music, minus Julia Roberts. Each step I take I feel my feet rebounded off the ground with zeal. Down the bleak halls of my apartment, I’m practically bounding, and into the bright life of the city, flailing my hands around like a chicken, trying to hail a taxi…



I won’t even try to stifle it. The minute that hotshot stooped into my cab I couldn’t help but snort. Did he raid the hair gel and cheap threads at Wal-Mart last night? This guy holds himself as though he thought he was one of importance; on the contrary, he blends into the sea of ants that scurry in and out, over and about the city every day. And who am I? merely their transport system. You want to sit in my cab? That’s $3.50. Each sixth of a mile, another dime. They can afford it, though. Draped in their designer styles, coordinating perfectly with their mood, always black. Do I ever get a thanks? Do they ever get off their phone? And here, this guy sitting in the back of my cab, trying to make small talk. I don’t talk buddy. I drive, you pay, and we’ll keep on, keeping on…




Rain. It looks like rain, I know it. And that tree? See that tree? Well it’s going to collapse, see that branch? I’d bet money it won’t make it through this storm. My cat. My cat is outside, and it’s going to rain; my cat hates the rain; my cat hates getting wet. My cat can be just a pain in the…ouch! Paper cut. I knew I shouldn’t had tried to staple so many of them at once and oh my gosh. Today is the new guys first day. What is he wearing? He’s receptionist of a medical dispatching team, not Donald Trump. Ha, Donald Trump. I should fire the new guy. Can you fire the new guy on his first day? I suppose. If he screws up. We all screw up though, each day each minute is just as distorted as the next will be. You can’t win. It’s life, you’ll die in the end so where is the sense in playing the game if you’ll never win. You might as well cheat your way through. It’s not like you’ll succeed in overcoming the ending. It’s inevitable…



Well there’s a new face! And an excited one at that. Stoked, I believe is an appropriate word to describe this newcomer. Oh how I adore making new friends! Maybe I’ll ask him to coffee this afternoon on break, introduce him to the crowd. Or maybe not. What is this pathetic ensemble I’m wearing? Black slacks, a plain blouse, no frills. I wish I would have known it was his first day. Oh well, I’m still going to see if he has any plans. I hope he likes working here as much as I do! At any rate…oh what a wonderful weekend I had! Granted nothing extraordinary happened. But why expect something magnificent? I’m entirely grateful nothing horrendous occurred! Hm, it looks like rain. My flower beds can use a nice, refreshing mist…



New guy. Are you kidding me? I’ll just hide behind my cubicle…DON’T MAKE EYE CONTACT; DON’T MAKE EYE CONTACT! Okay, he’s walking past my cubicle, didn’t even notice me. I’m safe. I’m not talking to him. No one can make me. He looks suspicious. Too clean. Too neat. Something is fishy about his persona. I can’t place it. Thinking, thinking, I know! He’s in the mafia. He must never find out my name. I value my life. That has to be it. He looks Italian. The mafia is Italian, right? I think so. His olive skin, dark, sleeked back hair. He looks so innocent. I know better then that. He was probably sent here to spy on us. I’m never leaving my cubicle again, not one more time, no one can make me. I’m starting to get a little hungry though. I know I have…somewhere in here…FOUND IT! A granola bar. This ought to tide me over for an hour. Maybe Pizza Hut will deliver in here. No, wait, the delivery boy could be in cahoots with mafia boy…





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