Generalist Canid/Black Tuesday
Generalist Canid/Black Tuesday
"This is not enough land," he muttered, "We need more."
The assistant warranty technician manager disables his car alarm. He breathes into his hands, more out of habit than necessity, the air being moist and warm, almost springlike. A podcast autoplays on the stereo, not a favorite of his, but a favorite podcast of a favorite podcaster, the usual cultural politicking, by and for the independent-minded, as the intro says, minds such as those of the assistant warranty technician manager. He steps into his vehicle, turns up the discourse. The holiday buying season has been a muted affair, with only the dismal year previous surpassed, not his concern, managerially speaking, though boredom plagues permanents and temps alike, regardless of department. Plots on whiteboards continue to fail to rise. The lead security guard, evening shift, waves absently as he locks the main southside entrance, a good posting, rumors have it, fewer homeless encampments. The manager waves back through the tinted windshield. A rusted downspout makes a liquid curtain of the parking garage exit. Customers periodically hassle him for it, hassle him for the encampments too, once per week at minimum, as if he owned the building (a pleasant thought). Behind him, reflected in the driver’s side rearview mirror, a phalanx of theater-grade televisions play the latest comedic action science-fiction movie, an extended cut, to the empty street, as the rain gradually subsides. Close to the onramp, close by the gas station, a medium-sized canid animal, a coyote perhaps, walks the median strip. It carries something in its mouth, the stuffed likeness of another canid, a large dog, bred for pulling sleds, a local sports mascot, sold in-store, though by whole different department, not his responsibility but strange, an animal carrying the doll of another related animal, walking silently down the road, as prerecorded dialog, advanced vocalizations, play and cue, play and cue, from exit to roadway to home.
