His belly bulges between his shirt and trousers. The overheads are in italicised Times Roman. He’s an ineffectual event, pointing at things we cannot see in a void above the projector. His foreshortened tie is crooked between his gull-wing collar. In the front row sycophantic cleavage adores his every word – puppy eyes reflecting her master – she nods in agreement and glances at the ring of subjects with a fast-track smile. Are they as attentive as she? Most look bored but a stern woman stares back – her lips are painted with pepper fire. She rolls her eyes with clinical apathy, snaps her bag closed, and begins filing her nails.
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