Бойцовский клуб

           Mybossreads: 

           "Thethirdruleoffightclubistwomenperfight." 

           Neitherofusblinks. 

           Mybossreads: 

           "Onefightatatime." 

           Ihaven’tsleptinthreedaysunlessI’msleepingnow. Mybossshakesthepaperundermynose. Whataboutit,hesays. IsthissomelittlegameI’mplayingoncompanytime?I’mpaidformyfullattention,nottowastetimewithlittlewargames. AndI’mnotpaidtoabusethecopymachines. 

           Whataboutit?Heshakesthepaperundermynose. WhatdoIthink,heasks,whatshouldhedowithanemployeewhospendscompanytimeinsomelittlefantasyworld. IfIwasinhisshoes,whatwouldIdo? 

           WhatwouldIdo? 

           Theholeinmycheek,theblue-blackswellingaroundmyeyes,andtheswollenredscarofTyler’skissonthebackofmyhand,acopyofacopyofacopy. 

           Speculation. 

           WhydoesTylerwanttencopiesofthefightclubrules? 

           Hinducow. 

           WhatIwoulddo,Isay,isI’dbeverycarefulwhoItalkedtoaboutthispaper. 

           Isay,itsoundslikesomedangerouspsychotickillerwrotethis,andthisbuttoned-downschizophreniccouldprobablygoovertheedgeatanymomentintheworkingdayandstalkfromofficetoofficewithanArmaliteAR-180carbinegas-operatedsemiautomatic. 

           Mybossjustlooksatme.