Without Trial

What's strange is that everyone has to clock in at the paper. Mrs. Pynchon, even. She fumbles with the time sheet while keeping her Affenpinscer crooked in her arm. You offer to help, expecting she'll give you the sheet but she hands you the dog instead, "Hold little Stuffy for me and I'll get this right," she laughs.

"Oh my goodness it's 11:59! Just a second, I love it when I get the exact twelve o'clock stamp! It means I fuckin' win, you know," says the grand old dame. Everyone in line guffaws, of course. Mrs. Pynchon can have as many cheap laughs as she likes. She's boss.

I was last in line but in no hurry, feeling almost serene. Got out my camera phone, clicked and mailed the above photo to Ma Kettle. 'Behold, I'm a factory worker, got a two hour shift today! haha!'

Got no response.

Then my pal Sam stepped up and gave me a friendly warning about taking pictures.

____
Later I was on the line, with the phone in my pocket, set to vibrate. Jesus, I'd forgotten that. Like a live animal in my pants all of a sudden.

It was President C.B., calling to tell me that he'd just summarily evicted my new room-mate for "inconsolable drunkeness". And did I think that was ok without a trial?
He blew two point in the breathalyzer.

As his Halderman I knew what to say, which was "Yes, sir. People have to know we run a tight ship, Mr. President".

C.B.(I can call him that) said, "You're right. Thanks Bob," and hung up. I thought --- well I'll be... The poor bastard ought to be crying, since being homeless and drunk is no way to stay out of jail.

He was a good room-mate. What the hell? And he spent most of his cash on groceries last night, when we drove to Schmucks. I don't get alcoholics. It's why I've always been a mystery to myself, I suppose.
____
Now I have the best room in the house to myself, again. They wonder why I never want to graduate to a single.

All and all in it's completed-ness, we had a open and shut day today at Oxford. I wonder what tomorrow brings.