There’s a Post-it on the fridge:
PLEASE DO NOT EAT OTHER PEOPLE’S BISCUITS
No smiley face.
I’m currently reviewing something I don’t remember with a team I don’t know.
Accidentally volunteered to lead it.
Maybe my diary will take off. Then I could leave this place. Feels like it needs something to pull people in. A thread. Will go back and edit in a drama. Maybe the dog.
Looked at some Medium publications. One’s asking for 55-word stories. I could do that.
Her chocolate digestives were gone.
She looked accusingly at the handsome man. She knew.
“I labelled them,” she said.
“I saw,” he replied.
“So why did you eat them?”
“I was quite peckish.”
“They weren’t yours.”
The buff, handsome man flexed.
“I’m going to tell HR.”
The clever, rugged, devastatingly handsome man awaits his fate.
Needs a second draft.
next: X. War in The Pantry
previous: 16. Maybe it Didn’t Like My Meal Deal