The Interviewee

He writhes in anxiety, rehearsing what to say, waiting for someone who just may not arrive today; so he goes upstairs, thick carpet, high ceiling, wide walls, dazzling white, the scent of affluence across the halls; some trendy artwork arranged, arrayed around the room, accenting sleek, black leather furniture, glistening chrome; and yet the ambiance just seems stiff, stolid and sterile, so aloof, icy, and almost haughtily evil; there, silence suffocates, stretches like leaden hours, those uneasy seconds that the late afternoon devours; waiting for someone who just may not arrive today, he writhes in anxiety, rehearsing what to say.