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The Interview

The youth lounged against a strut; he seemed less than interested in the conversation taking place in front of him.
He shifted from one foot to another. The clumsy black boots he wore were scuffed and worn across the studded heel. His skinny jeans had strategic rips and more metal accoutrements. He wore an old black hooded jacket with faux-Norse iconography across the back. Under the hood, his skin glowered anaemically in contrast to his kohl-blackened eyes. Pale hands were stuffed into pockets. He had all the charms of yesterday’s kebab.
Paul threw his hands up in exasperation. He sucked air through his teeth and blew it out sharply. “Well, you have to take him!” he hissed.
“No, I don’t,” Linda said, calmly sipping at her coffee.
“You bloody well asked for an assistant. Not me!”
“I’ve already got one,” she replied. “You arranged it yourself.”
“This…” Paul gestured wildly at the sullen youth who was picking at his spots. “This is what I have arranged.”
Linda turned to survey the newcomer. She clicked her fingers and waved him over. He lolloped halfway across the room, then stopped as if his battery had died.
Linda sighed. “Stand there.” She pointed at a spot in front of her desk. The boy stood slack mouthed and looked at Paul.
“There!” Linda repeated, pointing. “Are you a cretin?”
“Er no, I’m Taurus.” the boy said as he drew closer.
Linda rolled her eyes. “You’re a Goth, aren’t you?”
“Well, no, not really. I’m a bit more Industrial Techno than pure Goth. Unless it’s a requirement then, yes, I’m a Goth.” The boy grinned, revealing the teeth of an octogenarian.
Linda pulled in a deep breath and turned her furious gaze towards Paul.
“Get. Him. Out.” she said flatly.
“Really?” said Paul.
“Yes, really. Do it. Now!” Her teeth clenched together, hibiscus pink leeching into her pale skin.
Paul turned to the boy, who was grinning inanely. “You’ll have to go now, Rozzer.”
“Rizla, my name’s Rizla,” he replied. “You promised me a dip into the dark side. Cavorting and a bit of casual sinning, you said.”
“I know I did, Roswell, but I’ve changed my mind. No more to be said!”
“Rizla, not Roswell.”
“Whatever… The deal’s off, Tesla. Now, off you pop.”
“It’s Rizla, and I want to cavort. You promised!” His bottom lip hung over his chin at the injustice of the thing.
“No. Final warning. Bog off, Rizzo.”
“It’s Rizl…”
“BOY!” boomed Linda in a voice from the core of the earth. “BEGONE!”
Rizla was gone.
“Thank goodness,” said Paul.
“That was your mess, not mine.” said Linda. “Bring me another coffee then piss off.”

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