 doesn't proofread tweets | #wrongaboutcereal | #siriusly? | emo to the extremo
Finneas R. Schmoe here. The R stands for Reporting for duty.
Though, er, he wasn't quite sure whether he was meant to sit at the judges' panel or if he ought to take a seat next to the other auditioners. Just to be safe, he chose the latter. He had come to audition after all. His loafers meant serious business.
Or. Er. Something like that. They were better suited for business casual, if he were being honest with himself. He had misplaced his nicer pair in the mess that was his office. They were in one of the several boxes. Surely he hadn't left them behind during the ... unexpected move.
Anyway, AnYwAy, ANYWAY.
Despite the strange disconnect he was feeling, Finneas thought that involving himself in the production might allow him some clarity. A needed distraction from the tug-of-war going on in his planet sized brain and pea sized heart. Perhaps stepping out of his thoughts would allow him an opportunity to find another tether.
Stepping into the room, he stopped to nod hullo to each of his colleagues, offering a salute to June, in particular, before making way for the chairs set aside for auditioneers.
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