Small Places : Nick L Belardes [87 of 128]

• Twenty-Seven.
• This is the moment where dreams melt down. Reality is no cartoon. Bagworms don't walk and talk. Beds are places for cold sweats.
• In the middle of the night I'm thinking about the office. I can barely remember the dream. I have cubicle-inspired anxiety. I see faces.
• I fix coffee, toast. I turn on late night TV. Bela Lugosi looks half dead. I switch to the History Channel. WW2 footage, canned explosions.
• I try to remember the old man, the farmer. Instead I feel three days behind in creating ad jargon for wireless industrial data streamers.
• He has already lost interest in the demise of Milt Butterlink. Boredom has set in. This is corporate boredom at its worst.
• He places a stuffed squirrel on his desk that looks like a flower child. Me: "What's that?" Mike: "It plays music."
• I'm a bit annoyed, because on my shelf of endless fast-food toys I have a stuffed squirrel too. Mulani gave it to me. It doesn't dance.