It is a good thing Agatha Christie was so prolific; summer is for detective stories. Every year, at just about the same time, the air ... Read More
Jellybean Highfive got lost in thought, dreaming of a day when the boundaries between people and everyone would be blasted apart and no one would have to be told what to do any more and the shackles and stuff would be obliterated by powerful lasers of justice.
“Get back to work, Jellybean,” Carl said, tapping his watch like a dictator. “Break’s over.”
“Not for long,” Jellybean said, stuffing his mouth full of the remaining canned sardines in mustard. “Not for long,” he mumbled in a repeaty way.
“For the rest of the work day,” Carl said, like a fascist.
“OK,” Jellybean said. “Just let me finish my coffee, King Carl.”
“I’m not a king, Jellybean, you idiot,” Carl said. “I’m just a manager…”
“Oh, so you admit it?” Jellybean said, high-fiveing his last name in his heart.
“Come into my office,” Carl said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, winking at Shirley from Personnel, who looked away quickly. “The Office Sovereign begs the pleasure of my company, ya’ll,” he said, draining his coffee with a sardonic smile. Mustard played at the edges of his mouth like little yellow ooze-children born to smother fish.
Then suddenly nothing else interesting happened.