It was a regular day in the regular life of regular Ronald Rothman.
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Ronald had a job that he could take or leave except that they paid him rather well and one had to have money, after all. Ronald realized that he had acquired a modicum of expertise in his field which rendered him useful but suspected that he would never feel the ornery effects of passion for his profession.
Ronald lay in bed, his shut eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to the bland strains of the international radio show that was meant to ease him into wakefulness. Ronald didn’t need easing; he felt he had never slept.
He expelled a diaphragm full of air and eased his white legs over the edge of the bed then slammed his feet against the floor as if to test the durability of the cement ceiling of his neighbour below.
His morning was a model of predictability, the common threads being the ability to run consistently ten minutes behind schedule and the necessity of having to always leave a half a cup of deeply craved coffee behind.
His uniform was rumpled and stained as happens to uniforms not prescribed but adopted, and therefore rarely replaced with any regularity. The grey of his jacket did little to enliven the grey of his face and his brief hair was hardly better off after the straggling of a brush through it.
As such, Ronald prepared to meet the day.
A slightly pastier, slightly smaller Ronald returned eight hours later to sit disconsolately in front of the television and lose himself in other peoples fabricated adventures.
And so it continued… until one day, Ronald saw an ad… a droopy flower on one side, a perky one opposite… and Ronald related.
Could it be that this droopy person had a chance to become peppy, perspicacious and perhaps, even popular?
Ronald stirred. He felt prompted, provoked and vaguely uncomfortable. He called and made an appointment with the secretary who’d called him Ronnie since he was ten.
The ancient doctor spoke softly and repetitively to himself and to Ronald as he flipped kneecaps and felt armpits.
Ronald was soon on the street, gripping a piece of paper with his name on it, the possibilities spreading out endlessly before him…