I’m late!
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Where’s my other shoe? The bloody dog has probably taken it
upstairs again. What is it with him? He’s like a canine Imelda Marcos. I’ll
just have to wear the old pair. No time to go on a footwear hunt.
Keys. They should be in the door, but they’re not. Bollocks!
They must be in my jacket pocket. No, not that one. There
they are. Right, I might just make it.
__
He ran from his house and to the station. He could see the
train at the platform. It pulled away just as he was approaching.
“Stop!” he yelled, but it was futile. There wasn’t another
train for two hours.
He walked home slowly. He was going to have to phone in sick
yet again.
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