By: David W. Clare

The aging secretary bugged me all morning, she even tossed salt in my womb: eh wound, er I mean coffee...
That old tuff broad must be nuts!

Hector, was juggling the books behind Tracie's back again. He's blind enough to fall for them goofy lies...

Another day at the office with a hang-over the size of a rusted-out Buick yanked out of an old junkyard swamp. Boy, was I zonked...

My broken-down dented up car ran out of gas on the freeway. The tow truck almost broke apart from being too old...

I swear, that creep-faced driver looked familiar. Yeah, that's it! I saw his mug-shot in the old town-square post office last year. He probably lied, told me he goes bowling on Saturday nights.

What a hidden agenda...

My job was answering calls until Shelly gets back in town...

Her kid-sister went berserk and wound up in a not-so straight-jacket.

She is a kept-woman, forced to serve and sleep with a callus man she cares nothing about...

The county hospital phoned; she took an overdose, went into a coma...

That's life in the big city!
It's a pity that old hidden agenda...


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