The job got sick of its person. In fact, it wanted a new one. At the person store
the job picked out a lady who looked nice, although she always wore a mackinaw
when the sun shined. He asked the woman why. All she said was that the light
poured down like rain. She didn't want to be exposed like film before its birthday.
At least she was better than the last guy who whistled while he worked. He was
a pain in the ass. This woman seemed mad, as if she would cut down flowers,
because they shaded the grass. She was the kind of lady who only got dogs
with cancer from the pound. Job hired her on the spot and she took her work
home so they could spend nine hours per night campaigning for better
moon rights. She pays herself to howl. The unemployed listen to her lunacy,
counting down the dogs, the hours, the flowers.