A vision of stark naked power
Whomever invented Noilly Prat should be flogged in the history books as a dirty, evil whore. Sorry, sorry. It was a tough night. Forgive me.
I got the call around 11. Mr. Chisholm was sitting behind his desk - really - he was tangled in the wires behind his circa 1990 fattie sparc clone. He told me once the wires give him some sort of high, and help him think. I doubt Socrates could have written a book hopped up on meth sucking on a serial cable, but that's just me.
Someone was in trouble. Something about attempted rape - a young girl in the village. I got my trusty scissors out and cut my boss out of his web, and sat him in his rolling desk chair. When I managed to catch him from rolling through the open window at the end of the row, I gave him the news. He grabbed his utility pack, flask, and darted out the door without a word.
Fuck. He forgot his car keys. I assumed he'd take the subway.
When I got to the area, waiting in the traffic for 15 minutes because a homeless dude decided to set up camp in the middle of 6th Ave at 10th, Chisholm had jumped his way up a fire escape ladder and ejected the offender through the window before he could finish the evil deed.
The landlady, who had called our hotline, told me later that in the midst of bashing the dumbass perpetrator's head against the young woman's AV center, he received a call on his Blackberry for a Windows support question. While he swigged his last few drops of Absinthe from his silver coated pocket flagon, Chisolm gave an old woman assistance in retrieving a password she forgot due the onset of Alzheimer's.
After the ambulance collected the pieces of blood and flesh and took the pile of scumbag away, and I cleaned the scene of Chisolm's fingerprints, I found him in the nearest liquor shop arguing with an old Pakistani man behind the counter over the price of what I believe is the cheapest whiskey produced today.
I removed him from the situation, as he typed furiously on his mini gadget keyboard restarting some server or other, and placed him in his bed in his hidden apartment (sorry, no can say where) and shoved his favorite bedtime remedy under his pillow as he cursed me and all the earth "I hate people. I wish there were no humans. Humans suck".
Not a thank you for collecting him, or thanks for shelling out the cash to get his stupid Romanian whiskey, or hiding his identity yet again from the inquisitive police detectives. I am starting to get a bit fed up with his demeanor, and may end up going it alone someday. Or, maybe I'll just ask for a raise.
That's it.
I got the call around 11. Mr. Chisholm was sitting behind his desk - really - he was tangled in the wires behind his circa 1990 fattie sparc clone. He told me once the wires give him some sort of high, and help him think. I doubt Socrates could have written a book hopped up on meth sucking on a serial cable, but that's just me.
Someone was in trouble. Something about attempted rape - a young girl in the village. I got my trusty scissors out and cut my boss out of his web, and sat him in his rolling desk chair. When I managed to catch him from rolling through the open window at the end of the row, I gave him the news. He grabbed his utility pack, flask, and darted out the door without a word.
Fuck. He forgot his car keys. I assumed he'd take the subway.
When I got to the area, waiting in the traffic for 15 minutes because a homeless dude decided to set up camp in the middle of 6th Ave at 10th, Chisholm had jumped his way up a fire escape ladder and ejected the offender through the window before he could finish the evil deed.
The landlady, who had called our hotline, told me later that in the midst of bashing the dumbass perpetrator's head against the young woman's AV center, he received a call on his Blackberry for a Windows support question. While he swigged his last few drops of Absinthe from his silver coated pocket flagon, Chisolm gave an old woman assistance in retrieving a password she forgot due the onset of Alzheimer's.
After the ambulance collected the pieces of blood and flesh and took the pile of scumbag away, and I cleaned the scene of Chisolm's fingerprints, I found him in the nearest liquor shop arguing with an old Pakistani man behind the counter over the price of what I believe is the cheapest whiskey produced today.
I removed him from the situation, as he typed furiously on his mini gadget keyboard restarting some server or other, and placed him in his bed in his hidden apartment (sorry, no can say where) and shoved his favorite bedtime remedy under his pillow as he cursed me and all the earth "I hate people. I wish there were no humans. Humans suck".
Not a thank you for collecting him, or thanks for shelling out the cash to get his stupid Romanian whiskey, or hiding his identity yet again from the inquisitive police detectives. I am starting to get a bit fed up with his demeanor, and may end up going it alone someday. Or, maybe I'll just ask for a raise.
That's it.
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