Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Bliss at the Abyss

In SessionShould a physician ever tell me I’ve only months left to live, I’m heading straight for the nearest City Council meeting - for there, time stands still. Take this morning, for instance. It was only thirty minutes or so, but the time I spent trapped in the innermost chamber of my fair burg’s municipal complex felt like something akin to waterboarding. Luckily, I had my imagination there to protect me. That and a well-honed ability to defocus my mind’s until I’m damn near catatonic was all I had to fend off the effects of a backwards traveling second hand. Yes, in the time it took the assembled incumbents to decide what kind of screws to use on the city’s new lampposts, I conjured whole operas out of tabletop dust motes, achieved Enlightenment Level 3 on the yoga scale and at one point, left my body altogether.

What else could I do? My reporter for the day was in the corner pretending to take notes, I already had a dozen shots committed to disc and that creepy dude from the Free Weekly was looking’ at me funny. It was either float up there by the ceiling tiles in some transcendental state or attempt a flying dropkick that would no doubt land me in some manner of incarceration. Thus, I chose to chill, drilling holes in the highly-buffed mahogany tabletop with my eyes while willing my leg not to twitch too much and upset the sheriff’s deputy wedge there in the corner. Yeah, that one - the one mumbling all of Charleton Heston’s lines from Planet of the Apes. You think I’m dangerous. That cat’s got most of a Big Gulp on board and more than a few bullets in his right breast pocket. Drop anything heavier than a briefcase in here and he’ll pop up like that fat kid from Full Metal Jacket.

I’ll be hiding under the Mayor should the SWAT team ask about me.

4 comments:

alonglens said...

I once counted he ceiling tiles at a city council meeting... It was just that bad.

turdpolisher said...

i make a game out of counting the times the babbling old man at the head of the table stammers. a drinking game without the buzz.

Fec said...

That fat kid was Vincent D'Onofrio.

Great post and terrifying.

Giving guns much less bullets to corpulent Sheriff deputies is only dangerous until they keel over from congestive heart failure - often brought on by a sudden loud noise.

Weaver said...

I like to help the Mayor with her crossword puzzles...uhm...yeah....what's an eight letter word for that....