Part II. "Playing Nine To Five"



Early on the clock hand struck a chord in Jolene's heart
along with Rupaul's "You Better Work" dragging her across the gym
in leaps and bounds galore.
Guilty pleasures have no shame when muffin top and beer belly show up on the floor.
"Ladies one more time," said a larger than life video screen.
Slow breathing in long drawn out ah's accompanied a sweaty cool-down touch of toes.
A towel wrapped, energetic Jolene donned fatigues where flabby parts never exited her blouse.
The neighborhood was camouflaged in monotony, ripe for target practice in a plastic world.
A baby carriage stuffed with ammunition just entered Bank We Trust
with bullet-proof vested men suited up in Armani.
She passed a white collar sweat shop where beads of perspiration
were on the hands of false mortgage signers whose names proliferated
in the thousands everyday.
Beware of John Hancocks will be a headliner someday.
Upon seeing the new Eat At Joe's banner being unrobed, she jokingly
said,"how's it hanging" to Antonio the cafe owner.
Despite arthritic limbs, he bowed and said,"To the wind, to the wind my dear".
Jolene was fortunate that her overtime was dress down Friday
with khaki flip-flops chafing the smile off high heeled, wedged toed women as they pass.
Thrown newsstand papers caught wind, opening to her column
shared with so-called team players Tom, Dick and Harry who dressed obtrusively,
orange ties constructing a barrel of laughs or hues nuking puking colors.
But Joe Gray was different, stuck in neutral with a beautiful stutter
when his heart was a flutter and gray flannel suits him fine since
he sported alligator skins once in a while.
He bragged they were custom made and caught by his down home boys,
some yokels from dullsville.
Actually they were farmed gators shot to hell like fish in a barrel.
Jolene toyed with the idea of getting away from it all,
she really needed some R and R from cell phones which were always
off the hook from newshounds.
Greenvale did not have ticker tape parades, four star eateries or designer shops.
Only the peaceful, slumbering atmosphere enriched their lives.
Factories became dead end jobs, employing ordinary people
who never questioned their wage until union shops moved into town.
Mom and pop sales then eventually lost business to sprawling malls with assembly line customers.
All in all, Greenvale was slowly being mainstreamed like any other boom town before bust.
Joe kept in contact with his roots, relatives not related to him
with names like Bubba.
Some even subscribed to his column, imagine that, they had a small
following of readers, including Greenvale, devotees to quirks and innuendo of the times.
Afterward news became a packaged deal for fishmongers or fodder for
the masses, lining bird cages and good for hushing a obese rottweiler in the distance.
Jolene put her best foot forward again, window shopping bogo shoes
before getting a pet pedicure since her dogs were killing her.


End of Part II.