The InterviewA plume of smoke rolled off of Mr. Blacks lips, that reached out and encased my face, nearly choking me, yet leaving me with a sudden warmth. I found myself clinging to the smell suddenly, consumed by the nostalgia that came far too quickly with it.
Father seated in his chair, legs crossed, fine leather shoes knotted tightly and kept on at all times. The morning newspaper was a wall he constantly built up around him, leaving me unable to catch a single glimpse of his face. He looked up only
“You know I’ve had a million other people asking for this job.” Mr. Black remarked, breaking me away from my thoughts. I cleared my throat.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I replied, adding, “It’s a great opportunity.” He glanced over me like I had suddenly become an insect; like he was fearing I would soon become a threat.
“What are you, sixteen?” It was sour on his tongue.
“I’m eighteen.” He smirked at my instant retaliation, and we lapsed into a burning silence that only broke when he rid his cigar of ashes. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“You do realize this is going to be tough, don’t you?”
“Yes. Frankly, I don’t care. ” He grinned again; an odd little smirk on his wrinkled and weathered face. He ran his hand through his salt and pepper hair, and then stood abruptly. He walked slowly to the door, before throwing it open an proclaiming confidently; “You’ve got the job.”