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Everything Works Out

And they were, for a while. Len and Bunni started seeing each other, and Winter and me would tag along on their dates because we really had nobody to hang out with. A lot of the time I would sit at home and write various things. This and that. This being literally. I worked on this book, since I figured an autobiography might do me good, and wouldn’t take so much imagination. Not only am I not a very good writer, but I’m not all that original either. It makes for a deadly combination. Deadly to me, that is, since I can’t obtain money to pay for things like a place to sleep at night and food to eat so I don’t starve to death. My mother always told me I should be an accountant, since I really had a way with numbers, but she forgot to note that it was so dull and boring I probably would end up taking my own life, if only for something to do. Anyhow, I had gotten to a point where I could pretty much suppress my feelings for Winter when we were out in public, but as soon as I got home I would burst into tears and become a blubbering wreck of a man. It was alright that way though, since I was basically useless for anything anyhow. Well, mostly anyway. I did manage to sell a few articles to a local paper, which was paying the bills so far. They even offered me a job as permanent staff, but I liked being freelance. Of course when I mentioned this to “the gang” they pushed me to get it.

So there I was, at my first day in the so-called office space. I hadn’t made any special grooming techniques, and had actually not bathed for the past week. It was not that I was trying to give the appearance of some hobo off the street, it was just that I had run out of soap and shampoo and hadn’t gotten around to going to the store for more. If they had a receptionist, I’m sure she would have eyed me funny. As so happens a fellow with a blue fauxhawk and piercings this way and that came up to me and stuck out his hand. No matter how radical you are a handshake is always a decent way to great somebody in our country. He introduced himself as Duncan O’Duncan, musician interviewer, and I believed him. He asked if I was Tim Arcane. Timothy, I corrected him, after which I was lead to the actual office of the Editor-in-Chief. He was about to leave but the editor, a Miss Dayna Habendash, told him that he might as well stick around, since he was about to show me everything I needed to be shown about the place. After a brief chat, I learned that I had actually been selected because Miss Habendash had enjoyed some of my books. She was almost shocked to learn that I was not at least forty-seven years old. I was given charge of an article to be published in every week’s paper on whatever topic I felt needed to be discussed that week, just so long as it fit between a minimum and maximum space requirement, which I felt was pretty fair. The pay, on the other hand, was much more than fair, but I didn’t mention that less they find it in them to decrease it.

I was shown to a small room that held a fake potted plant, a couple pieces of art, a filing cabinet and a small chair and desk on which a computer sat. This was to be my work area, not that I really needed one. I immediately got rid of the plastic plant and the artwork, and started poking through the file cabinet. It was full of old articles clipped from here and there, and files on whatnot, and there were even a few whole papers. Completely unorganized, it was like a dream come true to me. I knew right away that I would enjoy this job, not that I would let anybody know. After about an hour of that, I felt I deserved a break, and so I left my office to find the kitchen. The kitchen, as it turns out was just a table with a microwave, and a coffee machine on it. There was a box of doughnuts too, that somebody had brought, so I grabbed a cherry filled one, and a cup, and walked away. I wasn’t sure why they needed a whole space to work on their paper really, since everybody could just write their articles from home and send them in, but if that’s what they wanted to do, then who was I to complain. And anyway, my first article was due in a couple days. I went back to my office and turned on the computer. It flickered and started up, and I found that it wasn’t actually good for anything except word processing. I guessed I couldn’t get into this internet thing on company time.