Energy Corridor

I don't think about love any more. Love is something my neighbors have or the girl at the bookstore who wears a portrait of 'hers to be' around her chest. Instead I focus on the magazine before me, its glossy pages, an index of possibilities. I go from one meeting room to the next. A general sheen of sweat beads across my forehead and the receptionist can tell. The hardest part of being an oil man is knowing that you are going to have to sweat. The meeting room that I came from was sweaty and the meeting I am about to embark upon will be equally so. There is always water abound, but water does only good for those who have been waiting.