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Q sweated. Early afternoon was bright and hot on the dirt
road leading out of the city, across wheat and corn fields, to the beautiful Masters of Opulence talent agency. Q wondered
what they did there. They would appreciate that the guitar player walked from the city instead of re applying and getting
another cue on the MOO bus. Q appreciated everyone that had helped him reach
his destination. Travis had lent the t shirt. Others had indicated the direction the bus normally traveled or
lent food. He would pay them all back when he made it. Now, he could see the lone, two story building in this
wheat field that could be the Masters of Opulence Talent Agency.
The correct, brightest action, Q understood was the one he was
taking. Elite persons at the Masters of Opulence would recognize Q's value. He made good decisions. Now,
in the hot afternoon sun, the dirt road led to the two story, nicely appointed building. Q could see the bus a distance
ahead. It was parked silently. The only people were a line of approximately 10 people, today's aspirants, in a
line at an entrance door. Q did not believe he, a candidate from yesterday's bus should have to wait in this line so
he skirted to a rear alleyway where he might find a side door. Mallory
and Ralph would take several hours to complete today's work. Workers of less significance moved rapidly to clean after each
kill. Ralph joked when they left the applicants to wait. Ironically, imagined Ralph, making them wait in line and enter
one at a time to be destroyed caused the issue to feel crueler to Ralph. He hoped Mallory, sort of a wastrel, thought Ralph,
understood.
"Mallory," Ralph counted the body dragged away as number seven as the two MOO employees divided the work, "was that the
poet?"
If a person aspired to something highly artistic or noble, Ralph enjoyed destroying the person more. And causing the
applicant to wait increased the pleasure for Ralph. Meanwhile, Mallory only wanted to be finished with this workday.
"It's time to go," said Mallory. "I guess that could have
been the poet. If not, when the poet comes through the door, I'll let you do the murder..." "Good," the bosses could hear that Mallory was disrespectful. He called their task 'murder' as if they were
common. No, thought Ralph, this is an important task for the society. They kept population under control otherwise
everyone would want to be a poet, or a writer, musical talent, or sports star....
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