The Square Man

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He was a square man with a square moustache. His broad, muscular shoulders were stiff and his mustache barely touched the tips of his permanent frown.

He had square thoughts and square dreams. He hid them deep under his dark black suit.


A well-respected man in every sense of the word.


This day was no different: Still a Monday, Still New York, Still Sunny Outside, and Still on Time for the F-Train leaving at 9:14 AM. He kissed his beautifully square supermodel wife on the forehead, grabbed his square briefcase, and walked out the door.


The subway stop was only a few blocks away. At his current pace of a step per second he would make it just in time. Sweat threatened to stain certain sections of his dark black suit. A minute to spare. He walked down the stairs, swiped his metrocard, stepped on the subway train.


Then suddenly, he was elsewhere.


The tunnel was dark, darker than his dark black suit. There were no trains, no sound of trains, and no tracks. The only sound was the steady dripping of water. Like the ticking of a clock. Drip. Tic. Drip. Tic.

The smell of sewage was nauseating.


A well-respected man in every sense of the word now trapped in the New York City Sewer System. It was ridiculous.

This is ridiculous, he said.


Drip. Tic. Drip.

Who did this? For what sick reason? he asked.

Drip. Tic. Drip. Tic.



I demand an answer.


Then the alligator blinked.

It smiled, a big sneaky smile… The sewer water glistened on its teeth.

Its clear, slimy spit drooled onto the dirty floor.


Standing face to face with a monster.

Now the man and his moustache were no longer square. The man’s dreams evaporated instantly in the hot and heavy air. Time and work and home no longer mattered, and the well-respected man (in every sense of the word) was never heard from again. 

Created: Apr 19, 2012


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