I don’t know what it says about my current state of mind that this is the kind of stuff I’m coming up with as I rewrite huge sections of my manuscript for like the millionth time.
They were all scheduled to move into the new building within a couple of months, but in the meantime the environment was fairly ramshackle. Nobody actually cared. In fact, one of the guys in Clarence’s unit, Pietro “Pete” Viera, had taken the opportunity to indulge in petty vandalism.
“Look,” Pete said to Clarence, “once we’re moved, Sid is going to beat me with a plank if I have the gall to so much as chip paint off the wall, but here—we already know the place is going to be demolished as soon as we step out. So.”
Using the same razor he used to sharpen his pencils, Pete was carving some kind of lacy floral pattern into the cork-board wall closest to his desk. In fact, he had already invested so much time into this pattern—chipping away at it over the course of the last month—that he was planning to steal the whole cork-board “wall” on the last day of their staying in that building; just knock off half of it so that it’s of manageable size, then pick the board up and take it with him on the street car like a second passenger.
“I don’t even think anyone’s going to bother stopping you,” Rudy said in a deadpan manner. “Good job, Pete. Amazing.”
“Thank you, muchas gracias, grazie signore, I’ll be here until I’m fired,” Pete said, as he popped out another flower petal piece of cork.