A Short-Short Story [Let Go]
Everyone knew it was his fault, him included. It was his account to lose and he’d done it.
When the boss asked him to his office, the writing was on the wall in bold print. His boss, a mediocre man who didn’t own a single original thought, took great, smug delight in his subordinate’s impending dismissal, though he hid it masterly behind a diabolical, utterly facetious, mask of sympathy. The words were a formality and he barely heard the squishy-souled man speak.
Out in the parking lot, with an Officemax box full of knick knacks, a stapler and a calendar two years out of date, the man leaned against his Civic and ashed a chipped cigarette. Fuck it, he thought with a flick, crushing the life out of it with the toe of his shoe. Tonight, he was going to buy his wife some flowers and that bath gel she liked. He’d pick up Happy Meals, with orange drink, for the kids. There’d be something good on TV.
There were plenty of shitty jobs.
