Under the flourescent light and humming air conditioning of the offices of Walch Publishing I am patient with my impatience. (There's no reason why "air conditioning" can't refer to heat, I would like to point out. The air here is being conditioned, ruthlessly).
"Nothing's worth noting that is not seen with fresh eyes." -- Basho (1644-1694)
Today it is a coin rolling cleanly down the fire-retardent carpet, doing away with complication as it heads for its host. Probably Sheila in the Art Department. A sad woman with a shiny face, as if rubbed with oily tears, who is getting laid off in a week. On Friday I was her confessor and today she treats me with more deference than a temp usually gets. She is not ambitious; she wants to switch careers and work in a hospital. The thought depresses me, wondering if a hospital may indeed be the best place for her. She looks and sounds exhausted and seems aware of her condition like a frog in an open field. The coin, a rare silver dollar, runs out of speed at the foot of Sheila's cubicle and waits to be noticed.
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