Joseph ushered him out of the office, complimenting him profusely on the good work he was doing. Only after he was gone and Joseph was alone again behind the closed door, did he realize that he had a sudden yearning for company, for someone to talk to.
Partch had Betty send him in a light lunch and he sat behind his desk nibbling the tasteless stuff without much enthusiasm. He wondered if he was getting an ulcer.
Yes, he decided, he was going to have to have a long talk with Dr. Coles that afternoon. Be a pleasure to get it all off his chest, his feeling of melancholia, his latent sense of doom. Be good just to talk about it.
Oh, everything was getting to him these days. He was in a rut, that was it. A rut.
He spat a sesame seed against the far wall and the low whir of the automatic vacuum cleaner rose and fell briefly.
Joseph winced. The speakers were playing "Slam Bang Boom" again.
His mind turned away from the grating melody in self defense, to look inward on himself.
Of what, after all, did Joseph Partch's life consist? He licked his fingers and thought about it.
What would he do this evening after work, for instance?