"Un cititor trăieşte o mie de vieţi înainte de a muri. Omul care nu citeşte trăieşte doar o singură viaţă." – George R.R. Martin

Quote of the Day – August 26, 2017: Imbecile Conjuration – John Kennedy Toole

Mr. Gonzales arrived early, as usual, to Levy Pants. He symbolically lit his little resin and a filter cigarette with the same match, like two torches signalling the beginning of another working day. Then he lets his mind chew the thoughts of every morning. The day before, Mr. Reilly had added something to the office decorations: purple garlands, gray and light brown had hung from one light bulb to another on the ceiling. The cross, announcements and garlands in the room reminded the office manager of the Christmas adornments and made him feel a little sentimental. Looking happily to the part occupied by Mr. Reilly, he noticed that the bean stems were growing so vigorously that they were even starting to get down, circling through the handles of the drawers where the books were kept. Mr Gonzalez wondered how the registrant managed to do his job without disturbing the tender stems. As he pondered this concunist conundrum, he was surprised to see Mr. Reilly himself swarm like a torpedo on the door.

 – Good morning, sir, suddenly said Ignatius, with the scarf waving horizontally behind him, like the flag of a Scottish clan set to fight. From his shoulder, a cheap camera hung and under his arm had a connection that turned out to be a bedsheet made the scroll.

 – You're here very early today, Mr. Reilly.

 – What are you talking about? I always come at this hour;

 – Yes, of course, said mr. Gonzalez with humility.

 – Do you imagine i came here early for a reason?

 – No, I…

 – Tell me openly, sir. Why are you so suspicious? Your eyes literally got rid of paranoia.

 – What do you mean, Mr. Reilly?

 – You heard what I said. Ignatius responded briefly and coming out heavy ly through the door, he set off for the factory.

Mr. Gonzalez was trying to calm down, but he was disturbed by a noise from the factory. They seemed to be some acclaim. He thought maybe one of the workers had become a father or won the lottery. As long as the factory workers gave him peace, he was willing to treat them with the same kindness. To him, they were just part of the factory itself, which had nothing to do with the "central brain." The workers weren't his responsibility. They were under Mr. Palermo's turmitous control. When he found the courage, the office chief would ask Mr. Reilly as politely as possible why he spends so much time in the factory. However, lately, Mr Reilly had become somewhat distant and unapproachable, and Mr Gonzalez resented his thought of arguing with him. He felt like iwas numb with his feet when he thought that one of those bear paws might stick in his hair and maybe drag him, like a rug, over the irregular floor of the office.

Four of the factory workers had embraced the two Smitfield hams that were Ignatius's thighs and, with great effort, lifted one of the tailoring tables. From the shoulders of his mules, Ignatius barked instructions, as if he were overseeing the loading of a commodity of the rarest and most precious;

 – Up and to the right, he's yelling at the bottom. Up, up, be careful. Keep it down. Did you get a good enough?

 – yes, confirm one of the people who picked him up.

 – I feel like I'm ready to slip. Please! I'm in a state of total anxiety.

The workers watched with interest as those who picked him up were intertwined when they were back, under his weight.

 – Now in the back, shout nervously Ignatius. In the back until the table is right below me.

 – Don't worry, Mr. R., you're panting one of them. We'll put you straight on the table.

 – It doesn't seem like it, icni Ignatius, when his body violently hit a pole. Oh, my God, my shoulder's dislocated.

A cry rises towards the other workers.

 – Hey, watch out! one of the spectators. I'm going to crack Mr. R's head.

 – Please beg Ignatius. Give me a hand! Just a little more and I'm going to crush myself to the ground.

 – Look, Mr. Reilly, said with his breath cut off one of the people who picked him up. The table's right behind our backs now.

 – I'll be thrown into one of the ovens before this adventure ends. It would have been much wiser to address the group, speaking from the level of the shower.

 – Put your feet down, Mr. R.

 – Slowly, said Ignatius stretching with a lot of caution down the thumb of the toe. Yes, that's right. That's good, that's good. When I get tight on my feet, you can let me go. Eventually, Ignatius ended up sitting vertically on the table, keeping in touch with the sheet next to his pelvis. so that viewers would not notice that the lifting manoeuvre had a somewhat stimulating effect.


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