Alright, I’ve been missing some time. I’ve no excuse for it, and I apologize. But I’m back now and ready to go. So, five minutes on the clock and a new tale to tell:
He abandoned all pretense of control and dignity, hurrying down the hall at the best run his aged legs could offer him.
He drew stares of course, but they were pointless now; meaningless. He paid them as little mind as he did the secretary who was even now rising from her seat with a half-hearted “Mr. Jones, you can’t go in there, he’s in a meeting! Mr. Jones!”
He was indeed in a meeting, with a young man who still had the glow of idealism on his cheeks. For a murderous moment, Mr. Jones envied that young man.
He shut the door as the two fell silent; then closed the distance remaining to the old man who had risen straight-backed from his large chair, and bent to whisper in one gray swaddled ear.
Mr. Jones took some satisfaction in the way his words drained the blood from the other man’s face.
Mr. Smith, however, was made of stern stuff. “Jenkins, leave us.”
And there you have it: five minutes and a paragraph. I’ll be along next week to add to it.