My boss’ and my energies are not compatible. We are power dancing, even if he doesn’t realize it; he probably does though, to a degree.

A palette arrives during one of my shifts. A whole palette. It’s full of animal pipes. Ulric has me unpack them, telling me that he will come in to price them.

When he gets in, he helps me for a second before needing to sit down because he is tired. While he is sitting, he asks me what I am doing to support Bernie Sanders.

If he’s going to win, he’ll need all the support he can get, he says. He’s not taking any money from corporations.

I know that.

So what are you going to do, he asks.

I tell him that I will probably vote this election.

You’ve got to do more than that, he says. You need to donate something, and you need to be out there getting others to donate.

It’s not really my thing.

After asking me when I’m going to wake up, he begins reading me lines from his screenplay.

I don’t have the heart or the balls to tell him that I don’t think it sounds all that interesting.

And his voice sounds weird when he reads.

He hasn’t read any of it to anybody else but me. I guess he figures that because I am a writer, I am good for this.

Originally published at on January 10, 2016.