The title story from Craig Cliff 's forthcoming collection of short stories demonstrates the young author's drily surreal humour around a fluid subject
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IT BEGAN with a puddle His right hand had been resting on the mouse while he stared at The Register He had once calculated that this one Excel file was worth $25,000 At least that's how the sums worked out on a cost- accounting basis - hours spent plugging numbers into spreadsheet multiplied by hourly rate He had used other valuation methodologies, too Net Present Value Internal Rate of Return Technology Factor These calculations, outdated now, still lay buried in forgotten worksheets in The Register, like a bag of mixed veg at the back of his freezer
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"What's the date today?" Fiona, the team's admin assistant, shouted from across the partition She asked this about ten times a day It was one of the many annoying things about the office he had become comfortable with
"It's the seventh," he said softly, dismissed the puddle and went back to plugging numbers into The Register
When he woke the next morning his sheets were damp He went through the same routine as in the office, looking everywhere for the source, but again found nothing Just damp sheets, which he pulled off the bed The mattress protector was damp also, so he pulled that off too, and threw everything into the washing machine
It took him longer than normal to dry himself after his shower He sniffed his heavy, sagging towel. Abercrombie & Fitch wholesale He had never really smelt his own scent before - the nose having the ability to eliminate the white noise of the familiar - but his towel shot images of his childhood into his head. (Balenciaga).
It's me, he thought
On the bus to work, a small but persistent trickle began to run down his pant leg People stared, thinking he'd peed his pants, as the colourless liquid ran down the aisle and towards the driver
When he arrived at the office, Fiona told him he looked terrible
"I'm melting," he said
"Maybe you should see a doctor" She patted him on the shoulder, which stuck slightly to his shirt, before bustling into the next cubicle to ask what the date was
At the doctor's, he removed his soaking shirt, his damp pants, his soggy socks, and stood there, dripping His doctor - a kindly Hitchcock lookalike with no s
Other articles:
http://mywatches.bloggproffs.se/2010/03/05/say-goodbye-to-those-prehistor/
http://www.xbjsjz.com/Whos-sleeping-now.html