Jolly hasn't finished this story, but asks that you read it:

The night was warm and moist, and a smooth rainsmell lingered on the air. No one saw this. Suburban silence, all distant cars and cricketcalls, hushed through the sprawling neighborhoods of the town. Breathing a tired sigh, the soft hum of tires and concrete wound out from the highway and through the community—softwhispering through white houses. Warm and soft Virginia June blew gently under the door of 1111 Hanover Avenue, where Adam wrestled with his bed sheets. Something was bothering him, and he knew exactly what it was. He hadn't slept all night. He never slept after she called.

Adam finally stopped his thrashing, still uncomfortable, but less so than he had been, half-opened eyelids leaden in his exhaustion. Like most of the city, he had to be at work in three hours. Adam slid his feet to the cold, hardwood floor—I should buy carpeting—and lurched to the bathroom. Standing in front of the sink, he looked at his sagging, pale face in the mirror. Poisonous insomnia darkened itself below his eyes. Tussled in all directions, his hair apparently judged the sheets the victor of the earlier wrestling match. Adam smiled—well fought, linens; thou hast vanquished me. Adam stopped smiling, and walked over to the toilet. Basically the same treatment she gives me. He opened the floodgates. He smiled—an imagistic metaphor packaged in vulgar pun wrapping paper, fat lot of good that knowledge does me; I’m still pissing all over the seat. He didn’t flush. **** flushing. All this pisswater swirling around at top speed. I’ll let it breathe. Doesn’t smell any worse than the rest of the apartment. Adam went back to his bed, inhaling the ammonia stench—aromatic.

As he shut his eyes again, trying to trick himself into falling asleep, Adam thought of the first call, the first in ten years. No. It was a text message. getting married will you come? email me. Efficiency incarnate, instant and cheap, they sure beat the hell out of traditional invitations. The message sent him floating through the memory of their parting, bubbled in the powerless paralysis of an anesthetized voyeur. He didn’t like to remember. Still, he had gone to the wedding. It was a quick ceremony, which was good. Adam had never been very skilled at holding fake smiles for long. Probably that's why I'm not married, he said, and smiled. Yawning, Adam felt sleep smokeslip, smooth, around his mind, and his thoughts disintegrated into welcome darkness.

But now the sun seeped over the horizon, soaking the buildings with a raw color. No one saw this. The city changed during the day. Morning stretched out through the early dawn, and the highways and tunnels flooded with travelers on their way to work. Driveways pumped car after car onto the roads, and thousands of suited men and women barked and snarled into their bluetooth headsets, the engines of their cars growling and yelping. In the houses, children jumped out of bed, after much urging, and checked their schedule for the day. School, soccer practice, homework, dance class, karate, scouts, music lessons, homework. Pre-planned rhythms pounded in their minds as they prepared to rush through town. Parents rushed through town. The commute, the Starbucks drive-thru, the workday, the overtime, the book club, yet another TV dinner, the cell phone ringing all the while, the emails bouncing back and forth between them. They needed to be at work now.

Adam needed to be at work now. Man, he was late. This was the fifth time in the last two weeks, and this time something was bothering him. Why did she have to call last night? Mr. Kronovier was going to kill him. As he dressed, he thought of the last time he was late, thought of that red, ballooning face, livid and shaking, as it had gaped open its wide, white-toothed mouth and ripped through the air around it, screeching and roaring about company time. God dammit, that phone call! Mr. Kronovier's teeth would grate together between words, gnashing and sparking and spittleflicking, and he rushed through his sentences as he shot each word into Adam's pounding chest. You think that's some kind of excuse!? Five minutes is five hours! It doesn't matter how late you are, don't you know that!? What is your obligation exactly? Adam had wondered how Mr. Kronovier could make his skin ripple like that; his whole face would rumble and shiver with anger as the rage-ignited oil flamed through his arteries to color it. You don't even know, do you!? I...I... Your obligation is to get here on time! I have been very patient with you, Mr. Thompson, and if you don't shape up! He had slammed his massive hand onto his desk and cracked the wood. ****ing hell, he'd actually cracked the wood.

Adam jumped into his car and powered out of the driveway. Thank God they'd raised the interstate speed limit to 85 last year or he'd truly be done for. The nerve of her. She knows what she does to me. It's ok. I'll sneak in through the back. No no, he'll be there. He's always there. Dorris likes me. Yeah, that's it; I'll go by the front desk. Dorris won't tell him. Who am I kidding? It doesn't matter. He'll be standing over my desk, looking at his watch. Panicked, sweating, Adam took his normal exit. Traffic. For the love of.

Mr. Kronovier was sitting at Adam's desk when he arrived.

—Hello, Mr. Thompson. He said, looking at his watch. It appears you're a bit late. Again.

—I'm so sorry, Mr. Kronovier, the traffic was—

—You're God damn right you're sorry, Mr. Thompson. Five times now. And if it happens again, I expect your desk to be cleaned out and fast..

—Oh, God, please sir. No, I promise, I won't be late again.

—Mr. Thompson, I've given you plenty of chances.

—But sir

Mr. Kronovier's voice reverberated in baritone solemnity.

—Adam, everyone else arrives on time every day. Everyone else is at his desk exactly when he needs to be. Everyone else is integrating his clients' finances onto the network by the deadline. Everyone else is on the phone all day and even on the commute, trying to get his portfolio together as soon as possible.

Adam turned his head to look at the cubicles. Everyone else. Sitting at their desks, chattering into their bluetooth headsets while typing up some response email while placing a business order online in preparation for the office party coming up. A cold grind from the kitchen, where the refrigerator was humming, presided over the scene, and machinery buzz from the street wreathed itself through the noise of the office, weaving the pop-and-click downtown symphony. Adam listened while Mr. Kronovier conducted his variations on the theme.

—Adam, we're rushed here, and we need things done immediately.

The bluetooth chatter continued behind him. He heard snippets of the conversations: "yes, you can reach me anytime at," "don't worry, we'll get you that information immediately," "well, you can always contact me at," "let me give you my cell number." As they typed and rambled, Adam thought about his job and theirs. College-assembled finance machines—this is what expendability feels like. Information lit on wires and waves, data and sound, via internet and cellphone connections, reaching its destination as close to immediately as technology could manage. It wasn't fast enough.

—Yes, sir, I understand completely. I promise not to be late in the future.

—Remember this, Adam: the future is overrated. So is the past. What matters is now. I'd like to say that's exclusive to this company, that we're special in that somehow, but it's not true. No matter where you go, Adam, they're going to rely on you at that moment, not before, not after. When you do finally get your work done, it's quality work, high quality, but I'd rather have an employee who gets things done on time. Much rather.

With that, Mr. Kronovier turned and walked to his office, and Adam sat at his desk to work. The chatter continued. Even though no one else had heard the exchange, Adam's face boiled with shame. Mr. Kronovier had actually chewed him out in public. God, out in front of everyone! The embarrassment mixed with something else in his stomach, making him queasy. Something was still bothering him.

He was still shaking when he pulled into his driveway that same evening. Five fifteen, and the city was a fugue of doorslams. Garage door, car door, front door, car door, back door, garage door. Point, counterpoint, variation, counterpoint. A city plopped down in front of their televisions. Four hundred channels and nothing was on, thank God for Tivo and internet streams. Waiting was for soup kitchens, welfare lines, and retirement homes. Adam switched his TV on, then instantly off. Something was bothering him. His thoughts turned slowly, focusing on something. Something bothering him. Back to something. Back to the day when they both stood outside the clinic, he pleading, she weeping. Please, he'd said, I'll help you. I know we can pull through this. For God's sake, think of our child! She'd looked up at him. A ghoul's face, pale, hungry and impatient. No, Adam, I want it taken care of now. He wondered how long she'd taken to come to that decision; she'd only found out that same day. It was just an inconvenience to her. I'm going to have to tell my father, she'd moaned. Adam had looked at the other girls going into the building, their hearts rent in two, the decision even now ripping their minds apart. Turning, he'd looked back at her, wailing about her father, impatient for the procedure to begin, and felt an oily disgust oozing into the wells of his soul. Slowflowing. Heavy. She didn't care then, and she didn't care now. Mr. Kronovier was right. The past was overrated.

Hey Jolly - I was wondering where you've been. Glad to see you back 'round. Read your piece. I like it. It's different for you, right? Not so heavy on the symbolism this time. Nice description. Several in there that I especially like, for example: "Breathing a tired sigh, the soft hum of tires and concrete wound out from the highway and through the community—softwhispering through white houses." Nice.

I was caught right in the heart with 'The past is over-rated'. Perfectly stated.

You know how I feel about your skills. Amazing.

Looking forward to the re-write.

H60

Yeah, I'm trying still to be pretty heavy with the metaphors and imagery, as I was in the last story, but not so up front about them. I want to let them play around in the undercurrents a little more subtly than they did in the last one. Thanks, Nick!

This is my favourite story of yours, by far. The character is easier to relate to than in your other stories, and the story itself is pretty universal. Excellent job, I am really looking forward to see what comes next.

One question: I didn't understand the line "their hearts rent in two," in the second-last paragraph. What does that mean? Does 'rent' have some alternate meaning I'm unaware of?

Originally Posted by: earthman buckThis is my favourite story of yours, by far. The character is easier to relate to than in your other stories, and the story itself is pretty universal. Excellent job, I am really looking forward to see what comes next.

One question: I didn't understand the line "their hearts rent in two," in the second-last paragraph. What does that mean? Does 'rent' have some alternate meaning I'm unaware of?

Yeah, the past tense of "to rend" meaning to tear or rip.

Yeah, I like this one as well. I'm also paring down the first one, with Thomas, and adding some minimalist sentences to help give the reader more of a story to follow. As it is now, it reads like a fairly intelligent, clearly Joycean writer in love with his own lyricism; I'd rather it read like a story with some breathtaking lines (if I can aspire to something so lofty). Thanks, Brendon!

Originally Posted by: Jolly McJollysonYeah, the past tense of "to rend" meaning to tear or rip.[/QUOTE]
Ah, you learn something new every day.

[QUOTE=Jolly McJollyson]I'd rather it read like a story with some breathtaking lines (if I can aspire to something so lofty).

Now you're thinking like I do when it comes to songs. I used to try and write songs in which every line seemed really profound and poetic, but now I realize that most of a song has to be in 'normal' language so the good lines stand out. I'm glad you're not gonna try to explode all our heads again with the Doubting Thomas stuff. :)

Originally Posted by: earthman buckNow you're thinking like I do when it comes to songs. I used to try and write songs in which every line seemed really profound and poetic, but now I realize that most of a song has to be in 'normal' language so the good lines stand out. I'm glad you're not gonna try to explode all our heads again with the Doubting Thomas stuff. :)

I can't guarantee not trying to explode any heads, haha, I'm still gonna pump out some difficult stuff. However, I'm gonna try to make it a little less daunting if not that much easier.

Originally Posted by: earthman buck The character is easier to relate to than in your other stories

Hhmmmmm....I related to the the creepy museum guy more. :D
Good job with the imagery....did you have difficulty beginning with "the night was...", I believe Billy Crystal tried to start a story with "the night was moist"
in "Throw Momma from the Train" it did not work for him but somehow you got away with it. ;)

Originally Posted by: z0s0_jpHhmmmmm....I related to the the creepy museum guy more. :D
Good job with the imagery....did you have difficulty beginning with "the night was...", I believe Billy Crystal tried to start a story with "the night was moist" in "Throw Momma from the Train" it did not work for him but somehow you got away with it. ;)

Haha, did he really!? That's awesome. Honestly, I had more trouble with the office scene. I had to edit out a lot and I have several alternate routes for it to take, though the only one I saved in a separate document had Adam actually get fired there, followed by a long speech by Mr. Kronovier which would've been an interesting character development. However, since it's a short story, I'm not that interested in looking very deeply into Mr. Kronovier's character, so I had to cut it. I'll develop him in some subtler ways if I can.

Originally Posted by: Jolly McJollysonHaha, did he really!? That's awesome. Honestly, I had more trouble with the office scene. I had to edit out a lot and I have several alternate routes for it to take, though the only one I saved in a separate document had Adam actually get fired there, followed by a long speech by Mr. Kronovier which would've been an interesting character development. However, since it's a short story, I'm not that interested in looking very deeply into Mr. Kronovier's character, so I had to cut it. I'll develop him in some subtler ways if I can.

Actually Jolly, I kinda like Kronovier. He's a little bit of a stereotype of an over-bearing boss but I thought you wrote him that way. I've worked in office environments for years and have met several bosses very similar. The only exception however is that Kronovier would not have laid out Adam on the floor like that. He would have had to do it with HR present and in a private office. Too many 'On the Job Stress' lawsuits filed over that sort of thing. But in the context of the story, it's perfect. Plus, bosses don't like to lose control. It's far more frightening to have the boss sit there and chew you out quietly with a smile on his face, voice nice and even. That sort of thing sends ice water through the veins.

But still, in the context of the story, it's nicely done. I wouldn't change it.

Yeah, actually I had them go into a side room, but then Adam wouldn't have been able to hear the bluetooth chatter, which was pretty important.

Originally Posted by: Jolly McJollysonYeah, actually I had them go into a side room, but then Adam wouldn't have been able to hear the bluetooth chatter, which was pretty important.

Good point. Although in an office setting, the chatter hangs over the place like a swarm of bees. You can hear it anywhere you are. I've worked in claims offices for 17 years where people are on the phone all day long. Trust me, you can't escape the buzz. I've finally gotten to the point where silence is the most welcome atmosphere to be in. Just to escape the thrush and thrum of office noise.

Although, like I said, in the context of your story, it works well.

One. Good work. Love it for sure.

Two. I love how the them of how impersonal abortion and technology ties together.

Three.

The night was warm and moist, and a smooth rainsmell lingered on the air. No one saw this. Suburban silence, all distant cars and cricketcalls, hushed through the sprawling neighborhoods of the town. Breathing a tired sigh, the soft hum of tires and concrete wound out from the highway and through the community—softwhispering through white houses. Warm and soft Virginia June

Hit me in the heart. Almost made me wish that I didn't have such disdain for the Norhtern Virginia economy and could live there. I can taste how it feels almost, you know what I mean... when you read some description of scenery and you just feel like it creeps up in some odd senses beyond sight.

Four. I loved the paragraph with the "now" speech from the boss. I guess that also ties in with how impersonal everything is. Same with the doors. Bahg I love it darling.

Five. I can't wait to see the rest of it.

Well that's weird. I didn't have time to read the story, but glancing through the comments, I just got the first real inspiration to write something that I've ever had. That's the good news. The bad news is that now I can't read your story until I'm done writing mine, because I'm afraid I'll lose it. :o

I added a paragraph toward the beginning dealing with Adam taking a leak.

Haha, gross. Good, though.

Finish it, damn you. Some of us want to read the whole thing.