Sal was late. Very late. And he could not have picked a worse morning to be late, even if he had sat down and given deep thought to options for a worst morning to be late. “This is bad, so bad.”
He was race walking, dodging others on the sidewalk, pirouetting, wishing for teleportation powers, cursing all of humanity that stood between him and the interview. “Excuse me.... sorry... excuse me...” So many people, all of them obstacles. This city had way too many occupants. “Excuse me..”
“Three more blocks, three more blocks...” Counting down the distance did not help, at least that he could tell—his mind didn’t really need something else to dwell on—but he kept repeating his progress, unable to stop. The apologies to his fellow citizens were rolling out unconsciously with no meaning attached. “Sorry... pardon me...”
“Two more blocks, two more blocks, two more blocks...” He was not sure how he was going to explain his tardiness but he had a few things going for him in the interview. He knew someone in the firm and they had provided a generous reference to Human Resources. That had helped him get the coveted face-to-face with the managing partner. The other chit in his favor was he looked good. His suit was impeccable, his shoes shined and his hair had come together that morning as never before. The cool morning was working in his favor, keeping the sweat to a minimum and his do in place.
“One block to go, one block to go...” And he was there, standing at the front door, taking a moment to gather himself mentally and check his reflection in the mirrored door before stepping into the lobby. “You can do this,” he informed himself. “Deep breath. Clear head.”
It was a little sound, a short “pop” that normally would not have penetrated his conscious, but for some reason it did. He turned, a confused look on his face, trying to figure out why he had gotten distracted. There was no one behind him, at least no one standing still, and there was nothing out of the ordinary that should have caused the interference in his psyche. As he turned to enter the building he glanced down. And he stopped. And he almost cried.
A jagged line of red goo was splashed across his left pants leg. He quickly looked back and saw the ketchup packet on the sidewalk, empty, dirty and mocking. “You’re late,” it said. “One door to go, one door to go...”
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