work
help wanted.
the sign, in its jeering plainness, builds a wall between him and the store. it's silent, bricks of possibilities stack on worries, fears, insecurities, to build the amalgam that keeps him a foot away from the door. it's not the first thing he'd arrived here for--books the primary attraction--but this odd synchronicity baffles him. not ten minutes ago he'd thought, quite briefly of course, about finding a job, a way to make extra cash for him, for certain expenses, for a sliver of freedom he could slice from independence. and the universe, in its peculiar ways of tugging strings and cutting them without notice, without mercy, had put this in a path. it wasn't a coincidence, it could never be, and that thought terrifies him. perhaps fate had found him after all and was presenting itself in this eerie form of neat characters marching across the paper in solid formation. the sunlight warms his neck, at first comfortable and later irritating. he can feel the sweat push through his pores in a silent overture of discomfort to come. with a wrinkle of his nose, a furrow of his brow, a pouting of his lip, his hand lifts and makes the choice for him: he'd tackle fate ( as a way to avoid the unusually strong heat ).
a daze clouds over him once he's in the store. it's a familiar sentiment that settles into his skin, eased by his invitation. somewhere between nostalgia and the future, this feeling resides and calms him, soothes him and floods his thoughts with a light hum of white noise that banishes complicated problems, complexions, obstructive inhibitions. leaving him tranquil, he breathes it out through a sigh, his nostrils filling with a tinge of the aftermath. his neck twists as he glances behind him, spying the sign through squinted eyes before he turns again. shoulders broaden, his back straightens--pushing away the curve of comfort and its weight on his shoulders. as he walks, each step brings another gram of confidence until he walks with found power and innate grace towards the counter. with his tongue, he moves around potential phrases he could begin with, words that would ease his message, even intonations that would give make him an attractive employee, but in the end his boyish spontaneity dominates and pushes out his words, unpracticed and clumsy. "ahjussi! ahjussi, i have a question."
