Monday, October 11, 2010


Loans and money borrowing. Dodging the short morning shadows of electric green spruce trees he takes a deep breath and pushed the doors into the climate controlled floor of his bank. Parking lot turns from pavement to carpet and fresh paper fills his nose. Tellers count behind thick glass and a collage of discarded deposit slips lay scattered across miscellaneous glass tables. He finds a suit.

Shuffling his feet, he collects static before sitting where he’s told. The suit smiles and brings out paperwork sporting promotional happy faces typical of those “normal” families in financial need. Loans and lending reads the header and he gulps the innate interest rates. Money now, stress later, we always back pain into a corner until its instincts for survival tell it to fight back. It bites hard when its life is on the line. Creeps into your throat and chomps on eyes. Tears for a man don’t come easy, but sometimes they squeeze the nectar of joy from your soul and drip down your face. Right where you can see it. Right where you’ll never forget it.

He takes hold of the ordinary pen and scribbles out his personals. Everything the government says you are. Numbers, letters and the blank spaces between. The suit punches the keys of his black computer and waits. Blank and empty smiles pass the time, fate swings in the balance sheets. Brows furrow, more frantic fingers tap the keys. Click, click, tap, tap. More hollow grins acknowledging nothing. He examines the wood of the desk and the lines of its past life. Meaningless details, but those that stick with you. Looks up, smile and a handshake. He asks for the only detail that’s yours. Still grasping the plastic pen he signs. Dollars today, stress takes another step back.

Fear = failure. A weak mans vice.

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