The burn on his elbow is hurting a lot, thanks to the stupidity of his boss, who smokes like an old movie idol to impress the gals. Most of them think that he is ugly. And we’re firemen, for Christ’s sake!
While hoping for a telephone call to make the tediousness disappear along the pain, Ray is looking for pomade in the drawers above his desk, packed of report waiting for fulfill. Another day wasting time with minutiae; nine years ago he forecast a busy and helpful life to himself. Like all other of his dreams, this gone terrible wrong. Most of the people do things that they don’t like during their day jobs; Ray tries to solace himself with the idea.
The entire family died in the fire. Ray is trying to talk with his parents since yesterday, but they don’t answer the phones. OK, they’re traveling, but the thoughts of yesterday are haunting him. He remembers the old couple partially disfigured. They are hugging each other. The kids are in another room, beneath the remains of the bed. Pick up the phone, mom, please. Burnishing the truck, verifying the hoses, his soul is flying. The pain was forgotten. Fondling Laika with a thought, Ray remembered his daddy’s cell phone number. Out of service, out of reach.
A little boy drowned three blocks down the street, swimming in the river. The phone call arrived too late. Useless, we are useless. Another corpse to carry back to a crying mother. In the last three months no life was saved on his turn. Ray takes another cup of coffee and stands alone in the cloakroom, looking to a picture of Glenda in the cell phone. Finally, he erases it. Please, some kid must fall into an artesian well to be rescued.
While hoping for a telephone call to make the tediousness disappear along the pain, Ray is looking for pomade in the drawers above his desk, packed of report waiting for fulfill. Another day wasting time with minutiae; nine years ago he forecast a busy and helpful life to himself. Like all other of his dreams, this gone terrible wrong. Most of the people do things that they don’t like during their day jobs; Ray tries to solace himself with the idea.
The entire family died in the fire. Ray is trying to talk with his parents since yesterday, but they don’t answer the phones. OK, they’re traveling, but the thoughts of yesterday are haunting him. He remembers the old couple partially disfigured. They are hugging each other. The kids are in another room, beneath the remains of the bed. Pick up the phone, mom, please. Burnishing the truck, verifying the hoses, his soul is flying. The pain was forgotten. Fondling Laika with a thought, Ray remembered his daddy’s cell phone number. Out of service, out of reach.
A little boy drowned three blocks down the street, swimming in the river. The phone call arrived too late. Useless, we are useless. Another corpse to carry back to a crying mother. In the last three months no life was saved on his turn. Ray takes another cup of coffee and stands alone in the cloakroom, looking to a picture of Glenda in the cell phone. Finally, he erases it. Please, some kid must fall into an artesian well to be rescued.
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