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{{a|opcoboone|}}The artist once known as the | {{a|opcoboone|}}The artist once known as the Barber sat alone and isolated in a dingy internal office. A mildewed graveyard of [[tombstone]]s stretched away across his desk hemmed in and overgrown by gnarled stacks of [[offering circular]]s, overgrown trust deeds and rotten closing agendas, belching side letters into a wastepaper basket. | ||
{{Quote|''I’m reviewing <br>The [[confirmation]]<br>Can a fellow be a minion all his days?<br>All the files and information<br>Who knew a bank could [[set-off]] in so many ways.}} | {{Quote|''I’m reviewing <br>The [[confirmation]]<br>Can a fellow be a minion all his days?<br>All the files and information<br>Who knew a bank could [[set-off]] in 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 | “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. Looks like it has properly cratered. | ||
“Yes, Roly, you could say that.” | “Yes, Roly, you could say that.” |