Chapter 2

“Jesus. Are you going to go look?”

“Number one, Anders, I’m supposed to remind you that in keeping with the august guidelines of our whoever the fuck is supposed to care about this shit, you’re not supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain. Not because the state gives a fat rat’s ass which particular glory of which particular risen savior you choose to sanctify with you praise, but rather because in so sanctifying the glory of whatever risen or unrisen savior you choose to praise you might — horrors — offend someone else in this office.”

“Silence equals consent, Anders. Didn’t your wife tell you that when I got blotto at the office party and offered to blow you?”

“Jesus, Everyman! Don’t you know people can hear you? Why haven’t you reported yourself to EEO if you’re gonna talk that kind of shit to me?

“Ugh. Okay. I apologize. I will walk myself over to Madame Sunset, or whatever her name is, and report my transgressions. My apologies to your chastity, and to your wife’s sense of… what, propriety?”

“Dude, I really do apologize. That was inappropriate. And offensive.”

“Weren’t we talking about the Director’s brains being spattered all over 24th street before I committed an unspeakable transgression?”

“Yes. We were.”

“And…what was your point?”


“Nothing. It’s sad, really. I count myself a Christian. And yet all I can think of is what a way to go. What a fucking sad way to go. I understand that Tolkein was channeling the Norse authors when he wrote, and so when he wrote about the kind madly running through the fire and then out and off the precipice I never thought of it in anything other than mythological terms.”

“That’s…that’s good. I hadn’t thought of it in that way.”

“That’s the benefits of being absurdly over-educated.”

Published by A garrett renter on Welbeck St.

An online diarist, because writing longhand just seems so tiring.

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