Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Call it the Blues, I Guess

The guy in the government office conducting my interview is as close to an archetype of "bureaucrat" as I've ever seen: square jaw, bit of a pudge hanging over his belt, a crew cut close enough that his scalp shines pink beneath the spiky hair, and a shave, even at this late hour, so clean that the skin of his neck looks almost like the wattles of a turkey.

He turns to the computer and asks me a couple questions about my current address and my middle name. He then notes something on a pad, and, in the silence that briefly blossoms, he begins to speak/sing absently, "Don't wish it away/don't look at it like it's/forever."

And that's it; we finish the interview, I thank him, and he gets up to make coffee as I'm leaving.

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