Tag Archives: serial fiction
“Christ, if I were running the account management of this fucking agency I’d get Dick Fields out of here,” Alan’s head art director, Clay Ogden, said, whipsawing a metal ruler on his drawing board.
Bill Taylor met Alan at Mullaley’s on First Avenue. Mullaley’s was one of those original Irish bars that managed to keep its anonymity.
“Mr. Howe is expecting you.” The secretary came from behind her desk and opened the door to the president’s office. Bob Howe, President of Dunaway Advertising, placed the phone down as they entered. He rose from his oversized leather chair, … Continue reading
They entered the creative department through the enormous leather padded doorway. Alan smiled at the four typing secretaries arranged in a four-stall cubicle. Frederick Taylor, meet Herman Miller, he thought.
Friday night waiting for the 5:35 Metro North train. Thick ninety year-old air hung over the dispirited crowds in the Grand Central Station concourse.