Stifled and sticky. Sun so bright ice cubes melted at the thought. Flo fanned herself idly with a discarded magazine, staring holes through the motionless clock. Flo flexed her grip on her practical handbag and withheld a sigh. She sat across a young man industriously rustling through a CV. Too young. No experience. She thought, followed more cynically by the afterthought: he’ll probably get the job. Flo rose laboriously from her too-small seat and left the airless room.
July 24, 2014