The Gathering Storm: An Opco Boone Adventure

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The artist once known as the Barber sat alone and isolated in a dingy internal office. A mildewed graveyard of tombstones stretched away across his desk hemmed in and overgrown by gnarled stacks of offering circulars, overgrown trust deeds and rotten closing agendas, belching side letters and half-wrecked amendment agreements into a wastepaper basket.

I’m reviewing
The confirmation
Can a fellow be a minion all his days?
All the folders — this information
Who knew a bank could set-off in oh, so many ways?

“I say has, that deal of yours gone pear-shaped?” Barber looked up at a smug, pudgy, floppy-haired youth, leaning on his door-jamb.

The Barber sighed. “Yes, Roly, you could say that.”

One more closing agenda slid spontaneously — gratefully — into the wastepaper basket.

“File that one in the circular filing cabinet,” quipped Roly. He pronounced it “sarcular”. “I had one earlier this week that properly cratered. Client was a total wally.” He pronounced it “taytle”.