Fernando sits at his
computer one evening. A beaten-up blue sedan pulls up in front of the
store and a man who looks to be in his mid-20s clambers out, one whom
Fernando has never seen before. Lots of those have been visiting the Dominion lately. He holds in his hands one of Fernando's slim cases,
bright yellow and visible from space. He crosses the short distance
to the drop box and Fernando hears the familiar klek-klik of
the Dominion's Guardian Flap being lifted up.
The man seems to
experience some difficulties, however. He can't seem to get the case
through. Fernando watches through his office windows as the man's
face transitions from bemusement to confusion to seething ire. This
is high entertainment, something which one could doubtlessly exploit
to make millions of dollars, even though Fernando's savvy allowed him
to reason out the drama's entire plot the instant the curtain rose.
After about ten seconds
of trying and failing to fit the case through the drop-hole, the
young man remembers that there exists an interior to the Dominion
where he may deposit his film. The chimes above the door jingle and
he strides up to the counter.
He slams the case down
upon the glass countertop. His eyes are baggy and rimmed with red.
Fernando absolutely does not make any internal judgment calls about
people who should sleep more and smoke pot less. “Man, why do you
have a drop box if these things won't fit through it?”
“Your orientation was
off by ninety degrees.”
“Heh?”
Fernando takes up the
yellow case and grips it in midair by one edge, so that the case's
longer edge is in his visitor's line of sight. “This is how you
were trying to do it.” Fernando thrusts the case a short way
towards the man for emphasis.
Fernando now rotates the
case so the shorter edge faces the man. “This is how it should have
been done.” Fernando pushes it forward again, but this time
releases his hold. Gravity performs its usual deeds, and the case
tumbles to land on the countertop.
The man's mouth hangs
open. He closes it and then leaves.
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