Clarity

Chicken salad with dill, almonds and cranberries on sliced country white. Red onion and a whole pickle. Jalapeno potato chips. Ginger ale. The cashier bagged it all up, stuffed it with smallish napkins whose size he more than made up for with volume.

Ron thought about the slivered almonds and considered how nuts, fruit and poultry could work together, through mayo, to present a balanced summer meal - perfect for the office. There was a good chance that it was all a mistake with a story. A chef in some hotel dropped his dried fruit and nut mix into a bowl of leftover chicken scraps. Too tired from a full day in the kitchen to pick through it, he decided instead to bring it together and make something of it. Mayo.

Chicken salad wouldn't stink up the cubes beside him like tuna could. It wasn't ethnic - not like the halal lamb or chinese tofu - which he might've got had he turned left when stepping out for lunch, instead of right. The sandwich was thick with contents, teaming within its wax paper wrapping. Some of it might fall to the side, off the bread's bounds. With onions in the picture, it was best not to use his fingers to pick it up. Not when eating at his desk. He wouldn't touch his keyboard while eating with his hands. He decided these among other things. Anything, really, to keep his mind off home.

Walk Don't Ride

The clear, plastic garment bag from the dry cleaner's made complete sense. The laptop went in the briefcase along with the files, work blackberry and sales collateral so that wouldn't work. It would crush them, anyway. A Safeway bag for the Ferragamos wouldn't be right. And all that shoe polish just to scrape against the rough-nap of the cheap canvas company tote? No. The clear plastic garment bag knew how to sit against precious materials. Shoes would be a bigger assignment, but in its range so clearly, the garment bag made sense.

The Wolf

Ralph tried to just sit and listen to Seth, but knowing the truth made that impossible. In their weekly meetings, Ralph made a point of taking the more comfortable of the two chairs facing Seth's desk because he knew fidgeting and any unnecessary movement wasn't taken well in corporate settings.

He would clear his head of distracting thoughts five minutes before their scheduled meeting time as if to make mental space for whatever kernel of wisdom might emerge from their talk. He reminded himself that these meetings were no less of an interview than the ones he endured when applying for the position months ago.

He always had food in his stomach so to avoid any audible belly grumblings and he always checked his teeth and hair before stepping into Seth's office. He had his polite laugh calibrated to a plausible degree. He would cross his legs only after Seth did.

But driving home late last night and witnessing Seth leave a gay bar with a low slung baseball cap left Ralph in a persistent state of shock that today's meeting worsened. Seth's words did not register as any logical stream in Ralph's mind. He just fixed his eyes on the picture of Seth's wife and children hoping that Seth wouldn't catch on.

"Ralph, is everything ok?"

Hard Fall

He lumbered down the aisle, loosely grasping the handrails. He barely had a free hand between his cane and his shopping bag, making any effort at balancing himself a tortured exchange. As the bus kicked up and lurched uphill, he was thrown back, launching him into the direction he was going except he was facing the other way.

He fell hard on his back, his head smacking the bus's hard, black rubber floor. His grubby Vietnam Veteran cap landed on an old white woman with a tidy look. Everyone knew he would fall.

HE lay there for a second, prostrate but lucid. He didn't reach out first.

Fat Happy

It was always the second bite for Roger. The second bite was his sweet reminder that there is more to the meal and that there will be more just like that. Roger never ate anything that ended after two bites. So he took the second chomp out of his fourth pork Bahn Mi with his eyes on the third bite.

He considered seeing a doctor about his weight but thought the better of it after giving himself an honest assessment between bites. The doctor would just tell him that he needed to lose weight immediately. That he was morbidly obese or just near it. He would put Roger on an exercise regiment, recommend he see a nutritionist and maybe prescribe an appetite suppressor. Roger could do all this himself and save the co-pay.

But Roger knew that the difference between himself and other fat guys was that he didn't want to lose weight. He didn't want to stop eating his favorites to get healthy all so he can buy a whole new wardrobe and open himself to a new league of women. Roger preferred to stay fat, fuck ugly women and die sooner. An honest, satisfying, shorter - but not short - life. Roger was 55, after all. Anything beyond this was bonus.

So Roger came down hard on the last of his forth Bahn Mi and considered a fifth. He had it in him, but decided against. Instead the view from the window showed a McDonald's promotion; Big Mac. 2 for $4.00. Roger thought about it.

It Takes Two Tries

I didn't really need the volume at eight. It was only me in the room. But the song came on and as I turned the dial I saw a blue flash snap to my left. The light bent across the walls and my eyes fixed on it and I followed it until it disappeared as quickly as it came, on another wall in my room. My hand turned the dial to eight and it was too much at first. I brought it down to seven, then six. I couldn't deny how much worse it got with each decrease.

I raised it to eight and heard hidden voices and thumps coming from the same song. There was more to it at eight and I had no reason to be polite about it.