From 9a2e2a9c3e0396f956381b8ee4af80fe3e8cf652 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Mon, 2 Mar 2015 18:31:47 -0700 Subject: Add thing class to pieces in template; recompile --- telemarketer.html | 2 +- 1 file changed, 1 insertion(+), 1 deletion(-) (limited to 'telemarketer.html') diff --git a/telemarketer.html b/telemarketer.html index d56c153..3603fc9 100644 --- a/telemarketer.html +++ b/telemarketer.html @@ -24,7 +24,7 @@ -
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It was one of those nameless gray buildings that could be seen from the street only if Larry craned his neck to almost vertical. He never had, of course, having heard when he first arrived in the city that only tourists unaccustomed to tall buildings did so. He’d never thought about it until he’d heard the social injunction against such a thing; it was now one of the things he thought about almost every day as he rode to and from work in gritty blue buses.

Inside the building, the constant sound of recirculating dry air made Larry feel as though he were at some beach in hell, listening to the ocean, or more accurately at a gift shop in a landlocked state in hell listening to the ocean as represented by the sound a conch shell makes when he holds it up to his ear. The buzz of the fluorescent bulbs overhead sounded like the hot sun bearing down all day in this metaphor, a favorite of Larry’s.

His cubicle was made of that cheap, grayish-blue plywood that cubicles are made of; inside it, his computer sat on his desk as Larry liked to think an eagle perched on a mountainous crag much like the crag that was his desktop wallpaper. The walls were unadorned except for a few tacked-up papers in report covers explaining his script. When Larry made a call to a potential customer it always went the same way:

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