Transcription Dump! v1

Ok, so I found a stack of papers that my typewriter chewed up and returned to me with letters all over, and since its a boring Friday night and we are just going to be watching movies I've decided to transcribe what I can of it. So here goes.

These were character sketches, just trying to flush individuals out, both are quite raw, and need major revision, but I'm putting them on the computer so I can do that if I ever feel like it.

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Anthony Thomason didn't even hear the thin tinny sound of the copper finishing nail he inadvertently was kicking along the sidewalk on this overcast afternoon. Nor did he notice the lack of that same sound when the nail decided to stop itself upright in the street Anthony was at that moment crossing. If an onlooker had been asked why it was Anthony turned his head at the moment of placing one foot onto the opposite sidewalk, they surely would of said it was in reaction to the sound of the front left tire exploding on the Audi A4 (thanks to the same nail that moments before trailed anthony's feet like a friend) a sound that was certainly the reason everyone else at that intersection turned. If though you could today ask anthony himself, he would say that he hadn't really even noticed the sound, and was instead turning back to glance at nothing more than a shiny wrapper for a new flavor candy bar be saw caught in the gutter.

Our lack of perfect understanding of why Anthony turned (unfortunately) doesn't change the fact Anthony did have less than a second to see the shiny blue Audi, driver still speaking (well, now screaming) into his cell phone (with text messaging AND camera phone technology built right in) as it jumped the curb, whisking that shiny candy wrapper into the air, and Anthony right behind it. If Anthony had not been instantly killed by the impact he would of been close enough to that wrapper to simply grab it from the air without a hint of exertion.

Two phones rang simultaneously to report the accident, neither of which were answered by an individual associated with Anthony. The first phone was answered with the forced cheer of "Good Afternoon, The offices of Alexander M. Gillespie, how may I direct your call?" the second was answered with the far from veiled apathy of "Susan Gillespie speaking".

Anthony M. Gillespie was a man that was not immediately missed when he put himself and his car into a lamppost thanks to a "factory defect" in the new tires he had put on his A4. And this was the way the story was told around the offices, in the company wide press release, and among the still bitter but confused (since they no longer had a living individual on which to focus their bitterness) employees around the water cooler. As far as the offices of Alexander M. Gillespie were concerned, there was never a second individual to involved in the crash, a fact that may not seem so surprising but may become moreso to you later. Alexander had ruled his father's father's company like only a third son could. Minimal actual knowledge, less care and with a success that could only be attributed to sheer luck, or an invisible inborn ability that wasn't detectable by the most trained of eyes. Still the success could not be questioned. Alexander had taken a company that was expected to sunset itself like all other company's of a family lineage, too fat with the years of leadership just like Alexander's to ever compete when any other company even glances towards their market.

This supposed pre-destiny was the only reason Alexander ever did follow in the footsteps of this grandfather. Not because of the challenge, or the excitement of drawing the family heritage into the next generation. Alexander took on this father's father's company because with it already doomed to fail, he felt he could have some fun tormenting people and causing chaos in a system of modern business that is still operating under the rules of elite men's clubs, with highback leather chairs and enough different types of cigars that every pompous member can have their favorite, and argue the finer points of taste, texture, and smell with the nameless leather chair sitting next to him. Alexander did not hate these people, or their high back leather chairs. In fact he was on of these people, had his own leather chair, and a favorite cigar that he had yet to lose an argument over.

What Alexander liked as much as being one of these people though, was making people like himself lives' miserable. He hadn't wasted any time, either. Less than a month into his leadership of the company Alexander had emptied his board and made three attempts at hostile takeovers, aimed towards companies he knew he couldn't afford to buy, instead to just make them waste time considering what the hell he was doing. Alexander had one morning scheduled four hours to tall up his competitors and offer the contents of his second desk drawer on the left for their company. Luckily none of the ceos he called that morning took him up on his offer, because there was a very nice pen set in that drawer that Alexander was quite fond of. He would not of wanted to give that away, even if it was in exchange for a much larger rival's company. Alexander spent the afternoon running statistics on the responses he received from the morning's calls and made a very pretty graph, which he put into that same second desk drawer on the left, picked up his empty briefcase and went home. (he had never carried anything in it, except an engraved cup he stole from the office of another rival he visited once. It was a nice glass, though it was unfortunately thrown from a taxicab some fifteen minutes later.