Sam was low. Afraid
to go to work. She'd made
a bet with Aidan, classic
jerk from Tennessee
that Russell Westbrook
wouldn't hit a 3 before AD
returned from injury. But dude
connected, hit the shot
against the Celtics. Now Sam
owed $$. And she would have
to see the gloating face
of former jockass jackass Aidan
dude from finance stupid shirted
dumbass dude who flirted
with her sister at the Christmas party.
Sam paid up at lunch. Depressing.
"Time to change," she thought,
and leaned her head against the
wall cement. "I can't keep doing this."
By this, she meant an endless nothing
punctuated now and then by losses
to a grinning husk, and bosses who
were glazed and tired demons. Back
to school perhaps. Call the ex. Escape.
A flailing. Anybody. Anything. An exit
from the suffering. Who was the woman
in the mirror? "Time to know," she said aloud,
as women walking by glanced down, not stopping.
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