Ad Hoc Fiction

A truck-rumble, mind-music-juxtaposed, jumps out loud behind the window, for a few seconds roars, then ebbs steadily away.  The office we’re in is third floor, creative, progressive, there’s beer on Fridays and a ping-pong table upstairs – a PING-PONG TABLE for god’s sake. Sometimes reception gets goody deliveries.  Chocolate in April, wine in December, doughnuts when a new place opens and we’re hip enough to be on their exclusive ‘Want You’ list.  Tweet Us the sugarpowder screams, Retweet Us, Doubletweet Us, TrickRTweet Us. Delicious.
We make creative things to sell you dreams.
We are made of lens flares, scintillation, fish-scale seduction.
We never bore, never tire, never run dry.
Our world is willy wonka, wizardry, wonderland.
You can’t come in but we’ll give you little pieces, piece by piece, outside the window, and we hope (clutching secret clipboards, projections, targets) that you like them – really like them. Love them. Love us.