First published in Feather Tale (2008)
Albert sat at the computer, his arthritic fingers hovered above the keys. He'd forgotten about the others in the library. His focus was on his argument with that fool, 96Corvette.
NYSenior: Term limits would fix what’s wrong with Congress.
96Corvette: Not going to happen. The process has to start with Congress. They’re not going to put limits on themselves.
NYSenior: They will if the people insist.
96Corvette: Like that’s going to happen. Besides, we have term limits. Just don’t vote for the bums.
NYSenior: That doesn’t work. We have members in their eighties and nineties. How productive can they be?
96Corvette: Sounds like age discrimination to me. Interesting coming from someone with your nick.
NYSenior: Well, something’s got to be done. Nobody’s going to change how Washington works with the old guard dug in.
96Corvette: Get over it. It’s the way it is.
NYSenior: Doesn’t have to be. It’s pea brains like you that let it continue.
96Corvette: At least I have a brain. Yours must’ve seeped through the pores when your hair fell out.
NYSenior: Oh yeah. If you weren't so flummoxed, you'd see how wrong you are.
Albert wiped his palms on his Dockers and flexed his fingers. Young smart-ass thinks he knows it all.
“Hey, pal.” Albert looked up to see his mirror image peering over the cubicle's divider. Gray hair covered the sides of the head, bifocals balanced on the nose, stained teeth peeked out from thin lips.
“I'm busy,” Albert said.
“This won't take long.”
Albert slouched against the back of his chair and took his glasses off. “Okay, what is it?”
“You know the meaning of flummoxed?”