by Jeff Glovsky
He stumbles in, excited looking. Looking for a rest room, or acknowledgment of some sort … His walkie-talkie crackles and his uniform’s too short.
He shuffles … looking left, then to the right (his Lincoln-looking beard and eyes bright); searching for a rest room, or a consciousness to plunder, he stands shuffling, waiting, hoping for a lingered glance his way …
But look away!
The pest might leave then.