ever since new york || h.s.

two

His book, what everyone was considering a manifesto with clear threat to incite riots, was like nothing I had expected and I really understood why so many people were excited by it. Not only was it well-written and with a certain underlying flare that not many authors could accomplish, especially one as young as I'd heard he was, it was a cohesive flow of opinion based claims that begged for peace instead of the war that our government seemed to opt for constantly. He wasn't dangerous. He was just different enough to rile people up.

It was hard for me to see the person who wrote this as a quiet, stay in the house type and I could see how that had confused everyone else. His sentences were structured with such passionately strong stances that all I could imagine was someone marching down the street with a picket sign. I would've wanted to talk to someone like this anyways, seeing it as a great headline opportunity plus an interesting take since I was such a quiet neutral type of person, but the fact that he seemed to be such a paradox only made me want to talk to him more.

My coworker's words kept playing over and over in my head as I shoved the book into my bag before scurrying off to work the next morning, the words he had used to beg Styles with.

I had to talk to him, had to at the very least just know his first name even though there was absolutely no guarantee he would give it to me. I decided as soon as I finished the book that I was going to try to get an interview because I couldn't just let this story pass me by like all the other ones. I was more professional than Pollock and an overall better employee. I deserved this.

I was tired, not getting much sleep since I had been reading Styles's essays instead of getting to bed on time, but I still had to go in to the office to finish the rest of my column about the different ice boxes going on the market that summer and which ones were the safest while providing the biggest bang for your buck, another boring story that I had no interest in but was still being forced to complete.

The day went by slowly, the constant clicking of typewriter keys and the chatter of deep voices droning on about things I wasn't allowed to be involved in distracting me from my work every few moments. When people say a watched pot never boils, they're kind of telling the truth. The more I stared at the clock, the slower the hands seemed to move, the second hand starting to edge along almost as slowly as the minutes hand.

"How's that intense thriller of a story you got going?" another one of the guys, Bill Quinn, said, leaning against my desk on the palms of his hands with a shit eating grin spread lazily across his face. He was my least favorite out of everyone I worked with. He was a bigoted idiot who thought he was the best of the best even though he couldn't use commas to save his life. He was constantly trying to make me feel small by patronizing me and the easy workload that I got by with, most likely because he knew how much it bothered me.

"Really well, actually," I said, refusing to entertain his insulting sarcasm. He just winked, before scooping up some of the papers on my desk and reading them, pretending to be impressed with little disingenuous smirks and eyebrow wiggles. I let him read them anyways because I knew deep down that he was aware of how good they were even if they were simple.

"Not too shabby. Might end up like one of us before you retire," he winked before dropping the sheets back on my desk for them to scatter all over the place, turning on his heels back toward his seat without even offering to help reorganize them.

I thought about those things more often than not, things like how much I could move up in the office and if I would ever become one of the main reporters like the guys were, but I realized that it was probably purposeless and definitely too saddening to get hung up on the what if's. I was only twenty-six anyways. Slumps don't last forever and I was bound to make someone higher up realize that I was skilled enough to promote eventually. I knew that most days.