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Saturday, May 8, 1999
Daily Entry Written on Powerful Prescribed Drugs
By Paul Ford
Reality falters, splinters, death.
Work was standard. One of the architects got so fat it couldn't stand up, and its chair cracked from the weight, sending it flat to the ground. A group of us sat around it, laughing, and Mark, in Sales, smeared its face and clothes with peanut butter and made pig noises. We all kicked it a little, not too hard, and Margaret, from HR, put an apple in its mouth. Ultimately, the architect expired with a huffing noise.
We brought out the kerosene from the closet and doused it, and it burned for a good six hours, with a roiling stench, black rippling smoke. We left with the alarms, and the fireman came to put it out.
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