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cleary complex in his dismissal of proven facts, texts, and archetypes, he moves in a pathetic, snake-like manner. the palms of his hands cut and sewn after many years of frostbite and encouraging characature work. he pulls from his coat pocket the barely ledgible report-the sweet smell of dark, hole-creating ink sinks thru the paper and neatly nudges the man.
stepping the gas pedal to the floor the man is certain this is the last time he will give his opinion.
the chairman of the board greets the ageless fellow with a hallow glance, and pulls his chair out for him. the green light of hypocrisy numbs the human's mind, he winces, and then checks his pockets for loose change. he then fiddles with his automobile keys.
"this is it." the man thinks.
suddenly, the terror of mankind, shadowed by the door on the right, emerges.
the man makes for the window, but glances back. he steps on to a chair.
"its better to love, some say, but it is much, much easier to loathe."
and with this the man puts his hand thru the window, and falls to his death.