I sit in the AC chilled waiting room,
Holding minor achievements and qualifications in my portfolio,
nerves tightening, throat shutting, heart racing, panicking as i sit
You call out my name so softly, I feel bloodless as I approach with a warmed smile; though you are lofty you smile back with a similar manner.
I hand you my book of tombs, and you inquire as you skim over the pages of listed names, we exchange smiles again as I depart.
Surely I got the part, the role in the play.
I show my eagerness and return soon there after, ask the question.
"Did I get the job?"
You stop smiling, why, why, why did you stop?
I see her approach behind from your doors, my back straightens, stiffened in your wake. My skin more chilled then the AC.
And all I can think,