Monday, June 8, 2015

Clocking Out

1The top few lines of the page were torn off, and the scrap of paper fluttered lightly on the concrete floor.

...See, here's the thing: it just doesn't work. Whatever you thought was in those envelopes wasn't in those envelopes. Maybe they were duds, maybe they were chaff, or maybe they were just pieces of hay. Well, times up, and nobody found the damn needle, if there was even a needle at all.

Good luck out there, and sorry it had to end like this.

I stared out into the ghost of the warehouse, empty and barren of sorting machines, pallet jacks, mail, and people.

"Godammit. One job, you had just one job: keep it together until everything was paid back."

I kicked the security gate, and it rattled, resolutely not turning, then walked back to my car. The engine clicked and wouldn't turn over.


I sighed, got out, and kicked the tire. Slinging my lunch bag over my shoulder, I glanced around the deserted parking lot and started walking.

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