Mickey Joe Jackson

Presence as thick as the wall. He stands lonely, often in some corridor, laughing at his own jokes. When others are speaking, he rolls his eyes. From his multi story gut, to the heights of his 80s style haircut. You can’t slip down the corridor, always turning around. You can’t, or do you even want to face him. His stomach absorbs each personality, like his laptop under his tit. Aways standing in the hallway, outside his office, transparent as his shirt. Words from a demanding beard, the weak, ambitious climbing up each hair. Fortunately, our jobs are just nine to five. He bullied until the moment, when me and colleagues had tears of laughter in their eyes