Feb. 19th, 2003

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The man who came in earlier spoke too, too softly, and he smiles too readily.

I was strung tight as a wire caught in metal clamps, twanged sharp, not flat. The light's too bright in here, see, and I was caught untrusting.

He reminded me of why I am here, put on this big fucking rock hurtling through space. He reminded me of all the fuckwits and cads and bellyaching basement dwellers with a penchant for Usenet and hyperbole.

He reminded me of old men eating candies out of a box before the flickering light of the Late Show, hands dipping methodically and endlessly, sweet hard cherry and orange, marzipan and sugared gummy. Legs wasted and eyes rheumy.

The man himself was perfectly nice, tidy, clean. Too nice, a little too friendly. He seemed to be swimming in a miasma of Nice, and it really rankled me today.

I kept myself from being at all snippy or sarcastic. His bordering-on-leering eyes behind large eyeglass lenses seemed befuddled and perfectly aware of how he was making me feeling.

"This is the kind that snaps," I said to myself in the midst of fizzing, angry thoughts.

When he entered the elevator and the doors shut behind him, my shoulders sagged, and I was able to smile again without feeling like my soul was being bleached, blanched, wrung through.

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