1.24.2005

Short humor fragment

It was late and he was tired, tireder than the format of an oldies radio station. He'd had a chance to wash up, but the soap reminded him of prison and had combined with his sweat to form a nasty grime around his face. It crinkled when he frowned, which was often. But now it was showtime and he had to put on a good face for the rubes, so he smoothed his lapels, adjusted his tie, shot his cuffs, and, by sheer will, appeared relaxed, vivacious, and interested: the guy everyone thought of when they thought of Hugh Jass.

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