Godzemo

It was my fourth job interview this week, and they had all ended the same way. Like flakes of paint, the colours were peeling away from him as I watched. At first it had been just a spot on his tie, this otherwise spotlessly clean and correct HR guy. Now his entire tie, butterfly patterns and all, was just a dirty grey strip down his chest. His white shirt, too, is flecked with grey spots. I presume there's some on his pants, too. Some of the colour is falling on his desk in front of him, the rest is all on the floor. I can feel it there. "Miss Chevlin." He's talking to me. He has perfect English, the Queen's own words flowing out of his mo