The Birth Of Tragedy

I was nervous about interviewing for the job, but my confidence rose as soon as I walked into the anteroom. My only competition seemed to be ignoramuses with a fixed repertoire of inanities and washed-up ballplayers in the habit of spitting. Forty minutes later, my name was called. “I’ll lick stamps,” I told the gargoyle from HR. “I’ll lick whatever you want.” He looked at my wrinkled boots and patched coat and just shook his big ugly head. Some may be born with a tragic sense of life. Others are like me and acquire it by dint of long effort.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie's most recent poetry collection is Gunmetal Sky, available from Thirty West Publishing.

How To Succeed In Business

Stephen had run out of work nearly an hour past and so resorted to tidying his inbox and creating email filters that would almost certainly remain unused after tonight. He thought about brewing another pot of coffee, but the late hour warned him against any more caffeine.

Stephen perked up when he saw the light go out in Mr. Campbell's office. He scrambled for his bag and coat, flipped off his computer, and almost ran for the elevator. He had a clever joke picked out already.

Mr. Campbell hated these encounters. Tomorrow he would call HR and have Stephen fired.