IMPERFECT
THE DREADED WAITING ROOM It was unbearable. The plush, deep chairs, the pastel flowery wallpaper, and the gentle elevator music were simply unbearable to his leathery ears. Nothing in Hell was more dreadful than being comfortable in a nice room while having the office secretaries smile and be polite. In fact, it made his bones quiver beneath his lumpy skin. This treatment was not only abhorrent to his nature, but this imp knew that something worse, a darker punishment, was on the horizon. If he could have wet himself, he would have but the room disallowed it. He couldn’t spit, curse, vomit; he couldn’t even fart. The room was magicked in a way that kept demons and imps and the like from doing anything remotely gross. And he had been waiting, in that fluffy chair, for weeks. Unable to utter a single note of flatulence. “When is this going to end?” he muttered to himself as his double eyelids drooped. He couldn’t sleep – another torture of the waiting room. But he knew the answ