Writings of Brian Lee Beshore

Nothing Artificial      Simon sighed as the board meeting dragged on. He was certain that some of the other members were listening to the stock market on their bluetooths, or perhaps Taylor Swift.      Henry Green, the chairman, was sitting back in his overly large leather chair with his fingers steepled in front of his chest. The sun was beaming in from the huge window behind him, which overlooked the other city skyscrapers.      With his curly blond hair and boyish good looks, the scene was almost angelic, except for the dust motes floating in the sunbeams and settling on Henry.      How can there be dust motes in this room? Simon wondered. Someone needs to do a white glove inspection of this place, he thought.      Henry was patiently listening to Willy Provost giving an account of Sky Limited LLC’s modest growth and profit projections for the coming year, made longer by Willy frequently stopping to mop his sw...