Others would knock

Barney shook the newspaper, folding the right half behind the left. Looking out into the office he tutted at the almost-empty scene ahead of him. Fair enough. It was lunchtime but he’d expected loyalty – eat a sandwich at their desks and work through.

Some of the red ink from a large advert for half-priced staple guns had bled through on to his blotting-paper desk mat. Pulling at one corner of the sheet, he yanked it out of the black leather, screwed it into a stiff cream ball and launched it at the stainless steel bin, laughing at the metal echo reverberating around his large air-conditioned room.

Swivelling his black leather executive chair towards the window, Barney growled as he watched all the people scurrying through the snow, some he knew, but others meaning even less to him. Outside the building’s main gate he spotted an old-fashioned hot chestnut cart patroned by many of his staff. He wanted to lift up his window, shout at them to get back to work but his office door opening distracted him.

Barney swung round expecting to see Joyce, his secretary, others would knock, but saw another familiar face, carrying a dish of chestnuts. Except it couldn’t have been who he’d thought, as he’d been dead for two centuries.


Photography courtesy of morguefile.com.

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