Verse 3
It was midnight exactly when The Supervisor approached. He was a tired and fat and everything on his face was disheveled but for a rusty mustache that he fastidiously trimmed almost to the size of Hitler’s, almost. The Slavs spread as he approached. The only person who looked The Supervisor directly in the eye was Maury and so he was immediately tagged as the newest shining stone to be cracked and polished by the grinding ax of The Supervisor’s corporate moral statement of the day.
“And who might you be?” The Supervisor moved towards Maury and again all moved out of his way all except Maury who suddenly found the height and lights of the ceiling to be a far more interesting thing than the shorter man before him huffing stale breaths of beer. “Your name son, what’s the matter, can
