The man from the dumpster

The business meeting is this morning. A dreamer nears his eyes reflecting the good times that were apparently long ago judging by many layers of dirt beneath his nails. I run my hand through my hair as if to check that my hair which was perfect five minutes ago had not transformed into the tarnished, contagious mess that was his. He comes closer and I get the first whiff of his scent that only in prehistoric times could have been deemed "pleasurable". I look up anxious for the light to change, not only wanting to get this meeting over with but because I do not wish to dwell upon the man that reflects how hung in the balance my lively hood is.