Today is the day that Senor Lamppost decides whether or not he will continue lampposting for a living.
Will he go on standing for hours on end, providing a valuable service to a small sector of society, walking down the street illuminating perfect strangers and places that prefer to remain in shadow?
Will he go on standing for hours on end, providing a valuable service to a small sector of society, walking down the street illuminating perfect strangers and places that prefer to remain in shadow?
"The pay is nice." He thinks to himself, fidgeting with his clip-on tie. "The work load isn't so bad either. My head is rather cumbersome, but it's a good conversation piece."
Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a worn wrist watch, silver with a dark leather band and dropped down one too many flights of stairs. It reads 5 ante meridian. This is the only time he ever looks at it because it's the only hour he ever gets excited about (and plus it's his favorite number); end of the graveyard shift (and plus his favorite television program starts in half an hour).
He can now stop debating himself over the pros and cons of resignation and make the thirty-three and a half step commute back to his apartment. Around the corner, up an escalator (the only residence within a thousand miles that has one), down a short hallway and there he is. Though being unusually long and winding for an escalator it certainly cuts down on the actual effort involved in getting home.
He always wondered why the landlord chose to cram a moving staircase into a rickety, old tower of a building in lieu of a simple elevator...or stairs. Space obviously isn't the issue as the casual observer on the street instantly notices the lopsided, inversely stacked mess that is the Lavender Arms.
He says the old coot (half building manager, half crazy-failed-inventor) only enjoys the challenge of seeing how long it takes to accomplish things the wrongest way possible. Given his penchant for spectacularly failed ventures Senor just assumes that the "Lavender Arms" was previously a shampoo emporium (and a thousand other things) before finally crumbling into the appropriate condition for bachelors to wallow in their own filth.
...
He always wondered why the landlord chose to cram a moving staircase into a rickety, old tower of a building in lieu of a simple elevator...or stairs. Space obviously isn't the issue as the casual observer on the street instantly notices the lopsided, inversely stacked mess that is the Lavender Arms.
He says the old coot (half building manager, half crazy-failed-inventor) only enjoys the challenge of seeing how long it takes to accomplish things the wrongest way possible. Given his penchant for spectacularly failed ventures Senor just assumes that the "Lavender Arms" was previously a shampoo emporium (and a thousand other things) before finally crumbling into the appropriate condition for bachelors to wallow in their own filth.
...