90 “Fi Fi Fie Fie Fo Fo Fum I Smell Smoke In The Auditorium”

The Adminstrative Assistant was tall, lean, hair dark, eyebrows memorable, and wore brown suits with expensive black shoes and well-chosen belts. Bogner, Armani, Chanel, and Monsieur Choo – nothing was too good for a day at the office. San Anselmo was a one horse town, she thought, but man, what a horse! And the rest of the county could run at the Derby, too. It was hard to beat these hills and demographics. She really did like where she was, if the nutbag in City Hall’s inner sanctum were taken out of the equation.
She stuck her two index fingertips in her mouth and whistled loud enough to start a race.
“Hey, Charlie Brown!” she shouted through the window screen.
“Who me?” Uncle Joe pointed a finger at himself.
“Yeh, you!”
It was a gruff beckoning. Somehow, Joe thought of the Olds rutted in front of the Guss home. He crossed the street, patted the statue of the coastal deer on its head, and entered the building. It was the first time since a fifth grade social studies field trip that he’d been in his home town’s civic center.
When he entered the mayor’s office, the Administrative Assistant assessed the way Joe walked as “cool and slow.” With some aggravation she scrunched up because here it was again, Golden Oldies applied to her waking day, in this case a Coasters hit song. Seepage from premium cable service music channels and too much time alone after work was making her an oddity.
“I need a man,” she pontificated. She was a woman of many rules and tasks, directed at herself.
“A man stands before me.”
Another shaky San Anselmo syllogism was turning up.


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