The Familiar Bank

Lost in the street, except for the familiar edifice of the bank, I walked into the basement and to the lift. While the multiple panels confused and confronted me, the red digits spinning like russian roulette, the elevator shook and trundled along stopping first at the top then down wearily on the fifth, eighth, thirteenth floors.

Ushered majestically into the beating room, the general manager.

A thin man, dark, with a cunning expression on his face. Whiskers down to his chin, and hair peeping out from the top of his untucked shirt. He sits at an angle with his legs crossed, his right hand caressing his thigh. The defaulters cower at the edge of a table... the suicidal driver's impoverished family, the mother the sister the daughter the jewels the cage...

But down we went again, down to the record room for a glimpse of our history for the books that we had faithfully preserved for the generations that followed....... [10.02.2005]