Morton’s eyes combed over the classified ads. Every other minute or so he was forced to push his circle rimmed glasses back into their proper place. Nothing. They must keep forgetting to run the artist wanted section. He threw the paper on the floor with the others.
The apartment was lifeless. Part of the charm Morton brought with him without much effort these days. He thought about tackling Mt. Dishuvious, but decided to procrastinate once more. Morton had precious few moments of ambition and now wasn’t the time to act with haste. There was a career search to continue, a man to rebuild, a space shuttle of hope to launch! Morton laid back down on the couch. Ah, you never let me down popcorn. Your cheap, no hassle, no mess. The perfect pop. Morton launched a kernel of yesterdays dinner into his mouth. Leftovers, a salty victory.
Morton glanced at the clock. He still had time before his shift started. New to the valet business, he preferred it to waiting tables. In Morton’s mind it was much easier to wait on cars. Fewer words and you get to test drive the customer. He’d be a jumbled mess trying to organize plates of food at a chain restaurant; the lifestyle of an artist is not always conducive to remembering to refill a child’s apple juice. There was much that could go wrong retrieving cars as well. Morton rationalized it as a yellow-flagged Grand Prix event. He liked cars, but didn’t love them. He needed the money. Fortunately, this was only temporary for our friend. He'd find that dream gig soon enough.
From time to time Morton imagined himself taking off in a flashy car and testing the thresholds of mayhem. Where would he go? Ha, try and find me in Montreal! Just look at the landscape! There’s eight rivers, forty highways and the Canadians are always clueless! Grand theft was not on Morton's agenda any time soon, till this point, Morton returned the cars and accepted a cash bribe to do so.
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