Wednesday, December 07, 2005

He's the caretaker to our building-the building that was supposed to be a Cadillac, but didn't get a notch above Buick-the building that's 60 degrees on a day when it's 2 above zero outside. He's standing outside my cube. He's talking with the same loud voice into his push-to-talk phone that one would when starting a fight with a longshoreman at bar called "Mel's." He's annoying as hell, and he deserves me to pop up and slam dunk my Herman Miller Aeron on his friggin' head, so he continues his conversation in the afterlife.