Chapter 17

           MYBOSSBRINGSanothersheetofpapertomydeskandsetsitatmyelbow. Idon’tevenwearatieanymore. Mybossiswearinghisbluetie,soitmustbeaThursday. Thedoortomyboss’sofficeisalwaysclosednow, andwehaven’ttradedmorethantwowordsanydaysincehefoundthefightclubrulesinthecopymachine andImaybeimpliedImightguthimwithashotgunblast. Justmeclowningaround,again. 

           Or,ImightcalltheCompliancepeopleattheDepartmentofTransportation. There’safrontseatmountingbracketthatneverpassedcollisiontestingbeforeitwentintoproduction. 

           Ifyouknowwheretolook,therearebodiesburiedeverywhere. 

           Morning,Isay. 

           Hesays, "Morning." 

           Setatmyelbowisanotherfor-my-eyes-onlyimportantsecretdocument 

           Onepairofheavyblackshoes. 

           Twopairofblacksocksandtwopairofplainunderwear. 

           Oneheavyblackcoat. 

           Thisincludestheclothestheapplicanthasonhisback. 

           Onewhitetowel. 

           Onearmysurpluscotmattress. 

           Onewhiteplasticmixingbowl. 

           Atmydesk,withmybossstillstandingthere,Ipickuptheoriginallistandtellhim,thanks. Mybossgoesintohisoffice,andIsettoworkplayingsolitaireonmycomputer. 

           Afterwork,IgiveTylerthecopies,anddaysgoby.Igotowork. 

           Icomehome. 

           Igotowork.