The fireworks were in charge of the fireworks
so that the stairwell seemed to climb forever.
I do not want Everest, he remembered thinking,
I want to be on time, and perhaps a ham
and cheese sandwich. The underground had been
hell to navigate, which made perfect sense to a reader
of Dante, but where was his guide? His Beatrice? Was she a looker?
An in case of fire sign in three languages hardly caught his fancy. And the suit he was sweating through was borrowed. His socks falling back
over his heels in full retreat. By the time he arrived, they would have
hired someone else and already fired them. That was his only hope now. That he could catch them in between layoffs and have his own desk for a couple months.
