The activities of Mr Black. {rascunho}

The man was going to die. In 5 hours, 3 minutes and 7 seconds.

His name mas P. J. Black¹. Everyday, Mr. Black sat at his tidy desk, hit his alarm ², and stared into space until the alarm went off.

Mr. Black was looking for an original idea. He’d been doing so for the past 4 years, 2 months, 4 weeks and 2 days.

He had never worked a day in his life – his great grandfather has been the inventor of Q-tips, so he had never really needed to, living off of royalties. – but, one day, amidst the stupor of having gone to Bali for the 67th time, he’d decided he’d help people. Make their lives easier – just like his granddad had. Even if it was something like helping people to clean their ears more efficiently for a reasonable price.

After some research, he’d learned that inventors were normally poor, so he had bought the smallest condo in the seediest part of town [that still was within walking distance of a decent place to buy socks, of course, he was not yet an animal], furnished it all with the nastiest second hand furniture he had be able to find [he'd even damaged some of it further, when they didn't meet his standards of crappyness], told his banker to freeze his account, and moved in.

And that had been, again, 4 years, 2 months, 4 weeks and 2 days ago.

He’d had an idea once – a nose-hair trimmer. He’d spent weeks on the idea, the design, even a name – Nofurynosenomore … and then he’d called his banker to tell him all about it, and found out he was just copying something he’d seen on tv a thousand times, without realizing.

Mr. Black had been quite annoyed by that.

But he persevered³. He continued to sit at his water-stained desk, and press the alarm, and try to think interesting, creativity-drawing thoughts. And the clock would ring, and he’d get up, and have a beer, and watch the developing culture of fungus in his sink.

Except that day, he fell asleep, for the first time. And, also for the first time, the alarm didn’t go off.

And, that day, for the first time, Mr. Black had forgotten his dinner in the oven. And a fire spread.

A week lather, another Mr. Black, the first one’s brother, after attending his brother’s – or what little had been left of him – funeral, had an idea.

And thus was the fire alarm invented.

¹ Nobody, except his parents, knew what the ‘J’ stood for, but the ‘P’ was for ‘Pickney’, so it probably wasn’t something really good.

² It was set for precise 1 hour, 27 minutes and 32 seconds. Mr. Black did not believe in creativity being restrained by round numbers.

³ After a shot trip to the Hampton’s, to which he felt quite entitled, after such heart-breaking disappointment.

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Provavelmente ainda vou editar isso, e muito, mas enfim. Enjoy =)

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