The true thick brew tastes salty. It needs more milk and caramel. Sipping this concoction, I begin wondering about these millennials like the college-educated barista behind the counter. As individuals, I’d say they are responding to the current climate as expected, and I even think appropriately. I’d do the same, and I’m a boomer. They come away resembling a champ in my book. I like spunk. Give those boomers their marching orders, I say! The younger generation has rights too, you know!
I hand the barista my business card. “Luscious drink, tiger!” I said with a wink.
I nervously held my employee cardup against the cover of the time clock, waiting for it to scan. Each passing second was fraught with intense silence. I knew this situation could get ugly if I didn’t get in quickly to manage the crisis. The company might launch a probe or, worse, schedule a hearing hoping to uncover any lies. It would be a foolish attempt to sully my reputation, probably forcing me to resign. I wonder if they saw the look of disgust on my face in the security video as I continued to wait for the buzz-in.
“Let’s ask the team who came up with the design for the lightprobe to conduct the experiment, shall we?” Kurt said as he motioned with his hands towards the salt solution. The dime immersed inside had a nice shine to it as we all gazed over towards the glass beaker. “As you struggle to identify on which side you should chime in on, as a student or scientist, please remember this evidence is part of an ongoing crime scene investigation, not just valuable practice and research for your education. DO NOT contaminate anything with your grubby, inexperienced little hands!
Barbara began to laugh. “You will rue the day you put me through this sham of a marriage!” She vowed to send this shallow shell of a man, this dense idiotpacking. Barbara was about to spiral out of control but felt a robust icy draft behind her. She turned and immediately felt the wind cutting into her eyes something fierce. The rage turned to tears as she turned around again to sop them up. You’d think this would have been a signal to Mr. Numbnuts to do something sincere, but no. He just kept drinking his craft beer. Dumbass.
Samantha died on April 26, 2019. It was shocking to her family and friends. She hadn’t even been ill, seriously or otherwise. The coroner ruled it was natural causes. His department had run all kinds of tests to rule out foul play. Nothing was remotely shady. Samantha just expired. That seemed odd for she was only 25 years old. He obviously couldn’t figure out exactly why she had died. Amateur.
And then her supernatural apparition appeared to me.
How on earth did Samantha know that I would find the one thing that would kill her and not leave any clues?
The shycats finally came close enough to my finger to lick the salt off of it. But suddenly, I was no longer enjoyable. They turned only to collide into one another, then left. I thought they’d like being mine, but they refused to follow me. They were free and intended to stay that way. Well, no matter, I had to forge on. The light was diminishing. Plus, it looked like it wouldn’t remain dry very much longer. I needed to get the perfect image for that fancy-schmancy style magazine. It was my last shot or lose my job.
“What a stroke of luck,” spying my keys and finding a stamp too! I easily bent down to retrieve them, but my knees made me grunt and wail straightening up. The pain shot up quickly until I was level again. I held on tight to the side rail on the back stairs. Then a flash of fear coursed through my body, adding to my phobia of going down staircases. I pressed on, regardless. I couldn’t keep my waiting fans in the wind outside. Theapplause of the mass awaiting me overruled any fears.
I saw smoke in the mirror andthe electric stage in the back watching the people sway to the beat on the dance floor. Some might come to a clash what with all the elbowing going on in that tight group. My sexy waiter removed the cork, very sensual-like against the jazz sounds coming from the band. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. This jive turkey flashed a big grin, thinking he could pluck me away. I decided to empower or at least encourage him by flashing back my big fake grin.
This hack thought highly of himself, but in reality, anotherknow-it-all safe in our midst. But he couldn’t roll with us. He couldn’t even act his way through this job credibly — time to cut ties, scratch this loser. We finished and headed out.
The pain in my hands was intense as I continued to burrow away from the job in our make-shift tunnel.
Outside, the hail was coming down fast. It felt likeacid hitting us. Pay-backs for doing a dirty deed? The pain wasjusticefor committing the robbery when you tamper with the natural order – Karma.