My office is too damn small. I get elbowed in the ribs a lot. It also
reeks of a peculiar combination of cumin, marijuana, and sleep breath
every day, all day.
And the things I have seen from my office window! A young lady eating a
mixing bowl of spaghetti marinara while driving with her knees; a man
squirming out of his pajamas and tossing them into the back, then
retrieving his business suit from the floor and jabbing his limbs into
it; a nurse reading the Bible propped on her steering wheel; a baby
goat strapped in a passenger seat, cocking her head at me with those
You were right to remind me of the view though. In the mornings, the
sun rises over the plains and paints the fields in washes of copper and
gold. In the evenings, the sky dons a stately purple gown and stretches
out as if for a roman banquet, while the cattle munch the grass at her
I agree, and though I'll no doubt continue to complain, I imagine I'll
stay through December. It's small and stinky, but there's something to
be said about an office that, if you stay in it long enough, will
always take you home.
- - -
Read JO's "Umara."
W i g l e a f