| falling |
| Scenario: Ford just jumped out of a window and is now falling to his doom off of a very tall building. He had half a mind just to keep on falling. The finger to the lot of them. He was just passing the seventeeth floor now, where the marketing department hung out. Load of tosspots all arguing about waht color the Guide should be and exercising their infinitely infallible skills of being wise after the event. If any of them had chose to look out the window at the moment, they would have been startled by the sight of Ford Prefect dropping past them to his certain death and flipping the finger at them. Sixteenth floor. Sub-editors. Bastards. What about all that copy of his they'd cut? Fifteen years of reasearch he'd filed from one planet alone and they'd cut it to two words. "Mostly harmless." The finger to the lot of them as well. Fifteenth floor. Logistical Administartion, whatever that was about. Fourteenth floor. Personnel. He had a very shrewd suspicion that it was they who had engineered his fifteen-year exile while the Guide metamorphosed into the corporate monolith (or rather, duolith--mustn't forget the lawyers) it had become. Thirteenth floor. Research and Development. Hang about. Thirteenth floor. He was having to think rather fast at the moment because the situation was becoming a little urgent. |
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