In the vestibule I had to wait for someone to come and get me.
The building wasn't mine, you see. Alone I had no access.
The woman in the snow white blouse handed me a clip-on
visitor's pass. The hallways were long and spotless, and it was so
quiet you could hear a fairy scream. In the office, they had already
reviewed my resume. As we began my throat became dry. Soon I was
croaking out words with inarticulate gasps for breath. And in my mind
I saw doors slamming shut. On the face of the interviewer I saw a shift
from keen interest to first puzzlement and then disdain. Everything turned
then to small talk. When I left, they said they'd call me. They said they would
but I know from experience that they will not and that my own calls will go
unanswered. When I got home that day, I immediately got out a pen and
wrote for hours because here and here alone my voice is still strong.
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