Guilt

Guilt

“I know what you did,” said the voice and hung up.

I stared at the phone. Unknown number. Who the Hell? This was the third day in a row. 9am. On the dot.

Stuffing the cell in my pocket, I trudged upstairs to the cafeteria. Dark roast, black. The naked truth. I didn’t do a damn thing.

11:30 creeped up and I locked my screen. The lunch table conversation washed over me as I munched, head down. Man, kale is chewy.

“Ain’t that right, Dave?” jibbed Eric. “Dave. Earth to Dave.” He snapped his fingers and Mary giggled, quickly joined by the others.

I looked up and the laughter stopped; everyone stared at me. I muttered my apologies and went back to work. Meeting-a-palooza on the docket.

Photo by David.Asch

Doug Langille
me@douglangille.ca

Husband, father, writer and shameless technophile.

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