Green Ink: the frothings of a raving lunatic.

In Stitches (#hunt)

Raymond watched Margo hunt through her sewing basket with a scowl on her face tossing out various colored threads, buttons, and a long measuring tape until she found a little metal tool at the bottom. Something was amiss, or afoot, or both. Margo, usually one to have a beer at five and blather on amicably, was drinking coffee at half eight and had clammed up hours ago. Not a peep. 

"What are you making?"

"Nothing."

Raymond gave up on conversation, as his partner in crime was clearly in a foul mood. Not that he was a ray of sunshine himself. Don't quit your day job, they said. And he hadn't. Yet. Though it had been a hell of a week at work. He'd been passed up again by the boss to join a better project. Raymond grit his teeth at the thought of his superior, James, a corporate Kool-Aide drinker with a plastic smile and cheerful demeanor as he told Raymond he'd be staying put. He tried to push work out of his mind. It was Friday after all and the good ice cream shop would be opening up again after a long hiatus during quarantine. Surely Margo would be up for ice cream.

Raymond looked up from the paragraph he had read three times and watched Margo rip out the row of even stitches she had so carefully sewn. She was talking to herself inaudibly and it wasn't a pleasant conversation. 

"Not satisfied?" 

He received only a grunt in reply. Maybe he would have to go out for ice cream on his own.

Margo's behavior became increasingly erratic as the weekend progressed. She didn't change her clothes and she stayed out all night. Looking haggard, with dark rings under her eyes, she wouldn't speak to Raymond and remained intently focused on her nonsensical sewing project, repeatedly stitching arm's length pieces of fabric together and then pulling them apart again. 

Raymond knew better than to interfere, though he secretly worried that she might be having a mental breakdown. 

As Raymond drove himself to his mundane 'day job' early Monday morning he passed an all-night diner. He caught a glimpse of Margo in the window sitting at a table by her self, drinking a cocktail, and laughing. Oh, dear, he thought. What a pity. 

On Tuesday Raymond gathered with his colleagues at work in a large conference room to hear about the restructuring that he would not be a part of. As his ruddy-faced boss walked to the front of the room, his trousers seemed to disintegrate. Raymond managed to stifle a laugh exhaling heavily through his nose. The room filled with titters and gasps. James flushed a deep shade of purple as he stood in a pair of yellow-faded briefs unsuccessfully trying to pull his shirt down low and cover himself with a panel of trouser cloth. 

The colleague next to Raymond leaned into his ear. "Rumor has it that this happened while he was with a client yesterday morning." Raymond's eyebrows rose. "I mean how could a man's entire wardrobe give out in the same week?" 

Raymond bit his lip, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. "I don't know," he lied. "Maybe he needs a new tailor."