Mr. Fang

Posted: February 11, 2015 in Uncategorized

The concentrated orange juice opened with a pop, it’s frozen brick-like contents soon to become a cool fruity treat for the kids on their way home from school. Scrambling to finish everything else before the afternoon became chaos, the man of the house prepared a snack plate, got his work cleared off the kitchen counter where he’d both cooked and gotten in some time to be productive on a personal scale (this was always done in conjunction with something else), and then was rudely interrupted by an important, indeed vital business call. He groaned inwardly as he politely laughed and smiled as he spoke, knowing that this chit-chatty, rather vacuous piece of business would be the thing that prevented him from accomplishing more. Worse yet, he might still be on the phone when the kids came home, screaming and yelling, jumping and just eager to burn off an already infinite amount of energy that had been constrained by the chairs and desks of their public school.


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