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Okay, you bastards, you were holding out on me.

Torchwood/Black Books crossover.

NOBODY TELLS ME THESE THINGS.

“There’s an American in the shop.”

Oh, God. If there was something Bernard detested more than the internet, it was Americans. They were only slightly below children on the all-time hate list. Only one thing could be worse: “It’s not an American child, is it?”

“No.” Bernard’s lip curled. “It’s a man. All flashy accent and Mormon teeth.”

Nobody did tell me, right? Because if you did, I'm sorry. It's just that my memory only extends to useless trivia and the half-dozen worlds in my head, none of which are in the same time zone.

Mormon teeth, ahahahahaha.

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An interesting side effect of Poetry Month with a journal of this many readers is that not only am I posting poems, but other people are posting poems in reply, as well as crit and discussion. And correcting me in that it was Robert Frost, and not my Chemistry teacher, who said that free verse was like tennis without a net. Still, points to Mr. B for knowing Frost (he was a merciful teacher and a true Renaissance man -- used his electric guitar to teach us about the properties of light).

It's like high-impact Lit 202 around here, man. Pentameter X-Treme.

At any rate, kevin_hy linked a handful of poems in one post, and I liked this one enough to share.

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.

( High Flight )

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*shifty look left*

*shifty look right*

*makes a break for freedom*

I'm going daytripping this Saturday. Word just came down the pipe from the foreign office (where "foreign" equals "outside the city limits") that I am cleared to depart for Parts Unknown. Well, they're very Known, actually, but I am an enigma and refuse to say. There's a sort of thrill in nobody knowing where you are, I find. Or, in the place that you are, nobody knowing who you are.

There will be trains involved, and possibly steak. I have Mysterious Business! Dark Errands! Unspoken Duties I must fulfill! No doubt there will be nemeses, nemesing about.

*prepares many maps and timetables*

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R has a job interview tonight. A buddy of his is friends with the owner of a company that sells furniture to office buildings and hotels and stuff, and he wants to get R a sales position. It's a good gig, he'd make his own hours and do a lot of socialising, which for some bizarre reason he actually enjoys. I know, weird.

Anyway, he's been researching company furniture for two days and he bought a new shirt and tie to wear. I've never seen him in a suit before and it's deeply weird, but he looks like he could sell the hell out of some chairs, and I told him so.

Sam: My roommate, the chair salesman!
R: Hey, haven't you got something to administrate?
Sam: Sell me a chair, go on.
R: Listen, everybody's gotta sit.
Sam: That's true. Nobody doesn't sit.
R: So I said to myself, what does everyone need? Chairs. I'm gonna corner the market, baby!