My Poster Girl

I’m a stock analyst. That’s my title anyway. In reality, I push paper and delude people into thinking that my stock recommendations are the best around. I’ve done all this work, and I know what I’m talking about. Yeah, right. I just do what the Home Office directs me to do. And, in the process, I’m supposed to make money—not for me or my clients, but for them, the guys at the Home Office.

All of my fancy analysis comes from the weekly company newsletter. It lets me know which stocks are the hottest. I pass that information along to my clients as though I had been analyzing data for days. If I’m convincing enough, they buy the stock and we all make a little money. In short, I’m nothing more than a salesman. Continue reading

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Where Have All Our Heroes Gone?

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I had just finished my business, and was in the process of zipping up when I heard a commotion off to my right. I turned to see what could possibly be happening. I watched as an old man, hands full of cleaning supplies, fought his way out of the last stall.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

He never looked up. “Doubt it.” Continue reading

Pahranagat Pete

“Pull up, Pete. Pull up. You’re coming in too fast.” The duck traffic controller was screaming at a Mallard that was half asleep, and not paying attention.

Everyone turned to watch. Pete was definitely coming in too fast, and at an angle that was much too steep. He wasn’t going to make it. Continue reading