"Whatcha reading?"
"Moby Dick."
"Yeah, I like that one... read his others?"
"Melville? oh yeah... none have the poetry of Moby Dick, naturally... not much does."
"Fuck poetry."
"Yeah, totally... except for Bukowski."
"Yep, totally. Let me get a hit of that?"
"Sure, thought you'd never ask."
"Hey want to head over to the Post Office?"
"Top steps?"
"Absolutely – check out the human carnival ."
"Why the fuck not... this is spent anyway."
The two friends crossed the street and climbed up the steps of the Federal Post Office.
"Liking the early shift?"
"A job's a job.
"And a horse is a horse"
"See that new intern?"
"Hard not to."
"How hot is she?"
"So hot that when she bent over my desk to talk about a news story and I smelled her nasty morning breath – I still started camping in the newsroom."
"Camping?"
"You know – pitching a tent – dude."
"Nice one."
Without a warning, a man in a red stained t-shirt staggered down the stairs. In his hand was a shiny object. No one was screaming.
"Dude – check this guy out."
The two friends watched the bloody man with interest but not with the level of concern they probably would have, if they had been closer to him.
"Drop it... Drop it right now! Lay the weapon on the ground! You are under arrest..."
Descending the stairs was a Postal Worker with a gun aimed straight at the confused and bleeding man who dropped the knife and then was summarily handcuffed.
A small crowd applauded.
"Check out Clint Eastwood!"
"Yeah man, he was like, ‘I work at the Post Office bitch!’"
"Who knew they even had guns?"
"Makes you think, huh?"
"Sure does."
"Time to get going?"
"Yup, show's over."
"Rasta manana."
"Later gator."
"Moby Dick."
"Yeah, I like that one... read his others?"
"Melville? oh yeah... none have the poetry of Moby Dick, naturally... not much does."
"Fuck poetry."
"Yeah, totally... except for Bukowski."
"Yep, totally. Let me get a hit of that?"
"Sure, thought you'd never ask."
"Hey want to head over to the Post Office?"
"Top steps?"
"Absolutely – check out the human carnival ."
"Why the fuck not... this is spent anyway."
The two friends crossed the street and climbed up the steps of the Federal Post Office.
"Liking the early shift?"
"A job's a job.
"And a horse is a horse"
"See that new intern?"
"Hard not to."
"How hot is she?"
"So hot that when she bent over my desk to talk about a news story and I smelled her nasty morning breath – I still started camping in the newsroom."
"Camping?"
"You know – pitching a tent – dude."
"Nice one."
Without a warning, a man in a red stained t-shirt staggered down the stairs. In his hand was a shiny object. No one was screaming.
"Dude – check this guy out."
The two friends watched the bloody man with interest but not with the level of concern they probably would have, if they had been closer to him.
"Drop it... Drop it right now! Lay the weapon on the ground! You are under arrest..."
Descending the stairs was a Postal Worker with a gun aimed straight at the confused and bleeding man who dropped the knife and then was summarily handcuffed.
A small crowd applauded.
"Check out Clint Eastwood!"
"Yeah man, he was like, ‘I work at the Post Office bitch!’"
"Who knew they even had guns?"
"Makes you think, huh?"
"Sure does."
"Time to get going?"
"Yup, show's over."
"Rasta manana."
"Later gator."
