Fragment.

It had been a long and disheartening afternoon of interning at The Washington Examiner. After arriving promptly at 10 o’clock AM, I began on my daily assignment of researching for “newsmakers” (prominent Washingtonians to write brief, 75-word profiles on) with dutiful intent.

Now I would like to take this opportunity to clarify that typically, on an average day, both my fellow intern Luke and I would have been given assignments by 11:30 AM. However, while leaning back in my chair to take a short, 11:00 AM break from my unwavering gaze at the computer screen, I came to an abrupt realization. He was gone! Luke, my internship buddy, my associate, my partner-in-crime had already been assigned a story for the day. He was gone, leaving me behind to stew in ennui.

Oh, bollocks.

Well, there was nothing else I could do but finish my newsmakers and wait for someone to acknowledge my languishing existence. Then, unexpectedly, I heard a simpering voice pipe up:

“Keith, there’s nothing for me to do!”

The voice belonged to Caitlyn, the “other” Examiner intern, who only came in on Wednesdays. Now, don’t get me wrong—I have nothing against the girl—but why hadn’t I thought to voice that very same sentiment? And as our editor proceeded to rummage about for something to placate her, I typed furiously away on my Macbook, hoping to create enough of a racket to elicit his attention.

Finally, at 1:30 PM, I grimly acknowledged that I would be sitting here for another 3 useless hours unless I spoke up.

I nervously made my way towards the editor’s desk.

The following conversation went something like this:

“(Pause)…Hey Keith, I just sent you the second newsmaker for the day.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“Is there anything else you need help with to have everything in by 3:30? I mean, because today’s early deadline and all.”
“Yeah, um…No. It would probably be best for you to cruise on, because there’s really nothing for you here.”

Dejected, I took his advice and left, feeling as if a lump of dead matter would be of more consequence than I.

However, instead of returning home to spend several more pointless hours languishing about the apartment, I decided to spend the afternoon downtown. There’s nothing that a good book and hot coffee can’t cure, right? So I set out towards Metro Center Station, prepared to take complete advantage of the abundance of bookshelves at the nearest Borders.

It was just as I was passing the National Press Building that misfortune struck.