Sonnet 87

The dominoes continue to fall at Dyn-o-mite!, as one of the worst employees there decides to high-tail it to St. Louis, following his girlfriend. Alas! Tool, we hardly knew ye!

The latest development, although it came about as a resignation and not a firing like The Tool richly deserved, nonetheless makes my former co-workers and me dizzyingly happy. Mayhaps the owners will see the error of their ways, as their little empire cumbles before them with employees leaving left and right and competition stealing away contracts? Nah. They’ll continue to live in their sheltered world until their own paychecks are affected. And knowing the accountant, she’s not going to let that become an issue for as long as she can help it.

Ah, those heady, exciting days at Dyn-o-mite, filled with queasiness and the urge to run, the air tinted with the smell of wet dog and cheap cigarettes. It’s a crazy time in my life when I watched too much TV (per force), knew too much about race cars, and saw too many 1980s clothing that wasn’t supposed to be retro. And I can never relive it. Memories. It’s the history of gore or some shit like that.