Pool_2

Eyesore mimed expertise to disguise own ineptness with a veneer of half baked factoids relating to the specialty of whatever doctor he was plaguing that day. His deceit was as transparent as the lamination surfaces that immediately peeled up in curls when the eyesore posters were hung. Yount's solution was to just choke the guy. But that was yesterday. Today holding lonely pamphlets, he was asking, "Where's Mac and Shannon?" disappointed at their sustained absence. Obviously, he wanted them in on this. "Oh well," he shrugged, pointing out specific color coded pages on the sheaves of photostats. Checking each prewritten name, "Farr! Here, take this one. Tusk, you be Mac." Responding to a cross eyes, "Don't worry, you'll survive." Ivory took the handout, which got him off his meandering querry of the others as to whether any of them had ever had their garbage stolen. "Why would somebody steal my garbage?" he was asking as Denise put him off by insinuating that he was implying that his garbage had more value than theirs. Popper was about to join in by recalling that he, too, had noticed his garbage amiss, but he wasn't sure. Rolling conversation swept this curiosity away. "What is this?" a general mumbling to Yount's hand outs. He now was dealing out his last extra undesignated copies as if cards in a poker game, while somebody was still asking around what a pecksniff was. Was that a urologic reference? "Ladies. Gentlemen. You have your respective scripts. We will do a group sing along. Come in on your part - highlighted in yellow on your copy. Everybody join in on the chorus. No. Wait. Stop. Don't turn the pages. Not yet. Just read as you go." A heightened level of expectation set in as many in the outer periphery moved in to take part in the group refrain, doubling up on the extra scripts which were passed along. Some were laughing.