John Chardovic

John Chardovic sits in the airport, weary, tired from years of service to the Firm, a brown worn heavy samples case at his feet, tie still strung tight around his neck, perspiration dripping down his face, exhausted from chasing the next sale, no longer a young turk, wonders about the years he's missed being on the road like this, the family he left behind, the children who have disappeared, all for one more catch, one more big one, one more attempt to keep his job.  Thirsty, he rises in slow motion, grabs the sample case, takes it with him as he walks the airport, passing so many brothers.

No comments:

Post a Comment