I’m finding it challenging to force myself to do the mediocre job necessary to undermine Beefcake. I have to make sure he doesn’t get elected Mayor, yet I keep finding myself wanting to write something meaningful.
Fortunately, Beefcake’s literary tastes aren’t discerning. He couldn’t tell a periodic sentence from a couplet. I’m confident he’ll barely read what I write for him. All he has in his junky little office in the back of Omaha Steaks are self-help books—“Changing Your Habits,” “Getting to Yes,” “Be Your Own Best Friend,” and “Put Lucky Charms To Work for You.” Those, and a bunch of yoga manuals that show serene women standing upside down on their forearms.
Jill Riddell is a writer in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute and has a weakness for nature, magic, and pennies abandoned in sidewalk cracks.