Gerald Weatherman

I hear his voice, that official sounding voice. Dammit, it’s another paper-pushing jerk-off. He says he’s just down the street, leaving some sorry pawn just like me. I am the last for today, it has been hot and I can just see him now, large glasses and woolen suit, sweat beading off his forehead. I hear him coming. Through my window the man I envisioned completely, is walking slow, step after step up the painful stairs. He is here to conduct an interview; little do I know what horrible things will happen after our dialogue. What petty information can I give? It is quite pathetic, and he knows it, he must know it, I am forced to crumble under the Man’s thumb, give every bit of intelligence at my disposal (this guy is lucky I’m not belligerent towards the state). He knows he shouldn't’t be here. Gerald Weatherman, perfect alias to disguise a killing machine as a desk clerk. No way is his simple visit for this. Who is she any way? I know bits and pieces, but seriously, why this guy and me? I am staring him down from the window adjacent to the door, he sees me, and I know he does, but instead, old Gerald knocks… why? A quick swing of the door is greeted with a firm hand shake and official CIA identification flash, following procedure I’m sure. As I step from the doorway, he enters my home. The hot must inside makes him uncomfortable, but he remains solid. His gray hair and stern face leave me bare in front of him, but I retaliate with a welcoming stare. He can read me…He knows. Once his questions begin he writes quick and relentless. I know I am not answering anything, but maybe that’s what he needs. I don’t even listen to his idiotic questions, attempting to ring out every drop of information I don’t know about her. He talks of drug use as if it is murder and murder as duty or responsibility. What fucked up people do we have running this place? I need to watch it, the tape recorder would have been great but these guys can feel movement, and can smell an anarchist from a mile away. I can’t disrupt the established order… Not here… Not now.