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
still.

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,
****
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