Palm Prose #2
Hector wiggled uncomfortably in his desk chair. It was a cheap chair that had been designed for someone with less girth. Hector wasn't fat as much as he was just big. The chair wasn't old, but he knew by the sounds it was making that it wouldn't last long. Just as Hector turned to look at the clock on his cubicle desk -- he'd brought it from home because it was shaped like a hula girl and made him smile -- he felt Brad standing behind him. Hector knew Brad would tell him (again) that the clock was inappropriate for work. Hector imagined what it would feel like to make Brad's bones crack like the cheap chair frame. It was 4:45 in the afternoon on a Friday.