“Sorry about the hole, Mr. Johnston.”
“Please. Call me Albert,” insisted the tall, black clothed man sitting before him, seeing each other not quite eye to eye like before but getting there. He wanted to make sure he was up close and personal with the troubled man, try to soothe his rather frayed nerves. Yes, Albert had issues. He moved from behind the desk to here, perched before him like another one of his birds.
“I have to separate the wheat from the chaff,” he explained, gazing into his face from slightly above. “As you probably noticed, all I have out there waiting any more are dummies, complete idiots.” Mouse looked down, trying to phrase his frame of mind in a more polite way. “I don’t have time for that any more,” he said, deciding to end that way. Albert’s turn now.
“You’re a real life person in this afterlife sort of situation. I appreciate that. You are tall but you can become quite small. That proves you are human. More effective than picking out chimneys on a house or signs on a road. This is not the DMV if you see what I’m saying.”
“Yes, I know how you feel, I certainly do.” Mouse rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as he sometimes does to impress a client, especially an important client like this. Albert was here to talk about the girl: he knew that. But which one?
(to be continued)