"What have you got for us today, Helene?" Helene hasn't got shit; her father's been sick, she's on the verge of suing her landlord because she told him about her broken shower head two weeks ago and he still hasn't replaced it, and she can't afford to go to law school now like she always said she would when this job went sour. "Okay," she begins. She's on the verge of saying, "
Megan Fox walked around in Los Angeles yesterday and I think that story has our name all over it. Or maybe we can write about
Twitter again. Twitter, twitter, twitter." She thinks about screaming. She thinks about making faces at them like she did in the bathroom mirror last night. Finally she decides to make an acting exercise out of it, and react to her editor's question as if he were a close, or semi-close, friend with whom she were having a fun chat. "Well, you know something?" she says. "I've been looking at Obama on TV lately and his hair is definitely going gray." "I noticed that too," says the new guy, nodding. There is a mass murmur of approval. "Okay," her editor says, "
600 words."
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