August
August fidgeted in the hard plastic chair and checked the clock for what had to be the hundredth time. They’d all been there for more than an hour and not a single one of them had moved yet. As if they had all the time in the world to just hang around and wait.
He took a second to let his attentions wander over the rest of the room, also for the hundredth time. So many beautiful people, so many cool ones, while he sat there looking like an overdressed high school kid waiting for his prom date.
But whoever heard of going to a job interview in jeans, for heaven’s sake? In tights? In rips and ruin and leather and pleather, even. It would be laughable if the truth wasn’t so obvious—he was the one who looked out of place. Not Ms. Snake-skin-tights or Mr. Jeans-so-snug-you-must-have-pa
