A Frustrated Case of Exaspiration

         Dean rested his head against the hot and dusty metal panel of his four door sedan. He felt his thinning hair rubbing between his scalp and the searing hot paint. And he thought, as he felt this, about the five hundred dollars he had spent in haircuts and Rogaine. All so that his bald spot might remain hidden and that the controlled retreat of his hairline would go unnoticed. His thoughts turned once more towards his sweat drenched and tattered suit. The ensemble he was wearing was one of his more utilitarian outfits and consisted of a tailored silk-cotton blazer, silk shirt and tie, capped off with poly-wool slacks. The pain in his left ear and right shoulder had returned, now apparently no longer fettered by the two Oxcodone tablets he had taken earlier.
            
(TBA)