Mad Man's office

The Mad Mess

Among the sea of hundreds yellow shaded buildings, one bright gray concrete skyscraper excluded itself from others. Colored by drying clothes, few street and room lights, unfinished re-painting and some graffiti, skyscraper stood high and proud. Or probably would, if it were alive.

By looking at a certain window on 5th floor, one could tell something was different. And that wasn't good news, even in the slightest. That room was a part of 30th apartment, the home of Madson family. The Madsons were a poor family and the apartment portrayed that perfectly: With over 30 years old furniture that screamed to be thrown away, looking abused on their sole purposes. Walls were not better either, as their paint started to crumble and fall off. Their fridge consisted of only milk, cheese and expired meat. Mental note of being poor was just showing to anyone visiting them.

Apartment had 2 rooms, short hall, toilet and a kitchen linked with the dining room. One of the rooms has been off limits for all people, except Myke.

Myke Madson, part of a 3 member family, with his mum and grand-mum, was the youngest and most capable of them. That's why he worked the most he could to make their living, no matter how small the payment.

And that's why his room was off limits. When one comes near his room, rock music could always be heard with scribbling and typing noises. Today, voice of Jim Morrison singing 'When the music’s over' touched everyone's soul through their ears for the millionth time.

Tall, with more than few pounds extra, unshaven, dressed in pajamas and with mess of a bed hair, Myke came from the bathroom slowly and opened the wooden door which made shrieking sounds.

That little 'office', what he called it, pictured a perfect example of an awful room. Everything was put in a total, unorganized mess. There was a bed pushed up against the wall - the working table and closets built in snug next to each other, didn't help relieving of the room's crampness and mess.

Some sheets of papers were on the floor, worn clothes on bed, drawings and documents on table, screaming at a visitor to run away, powered with stench of plates where some delicious cooking was.

Myke passed all that and sat on a chair, which remarkably, had nothing on it. The phone, put on the only clean area in the room, rang furiously the moment he sat on the chair, which set him tensing up and picking it up with annoyance.

"Hello?" answered Myke with crippled voice.

"Is that Mr. Myke Madson? I have a job for you." stated the caller.

"Yup, that's me" Myke got serious "Whadya need?"

"More details in person" mysterious was the caller "When can we meet?"

Myke already got dressed while the call was redirected to speakers. He packed some minor jobs that were done earlier that day, such as a graphic drawing, high school homework, fixed radio and more.

"Twenty minutes, Fire Cafe, 3rd Street, Block F?" Myke said loudly, putting his leather jacket on trying to look both cool and official, which was desperately ruined by his regular dressing style.

"Perfect" agreed the caller "One last thing, I just got this number saying Myke Madison will do any job for money, so what's your official company called?"

" 'If you're looking for a job done, even for suspicious actions, don't call nine-one-one, we'll help you with your problems' is the motto" failed Myke to make a haiku "Of the Mad Man's Office".

He hung up and left that hideous room, to a cruel world, where money made history and life, to do what must be done.