Everyman awoke from his nap with a start. Something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t quite put it his finger on it — not because of the bleariness of sleep, since he always awoke from these early-afternoon 20 minute catnaps refreshed and eager to meet whatever challenges the rest of the day might bring — but instead because it was as if the atmosphere had shifted, somehow. Some change in the pressure, maybe. Or a subtle waft of scent through the office air conditioning, circulated from the cooling plant across the street and through three buildings to this, his far corner cubicle overlooking the wall of oleander blocking his view of the cemetery.
No, not a scent, quite. More a kind of disturbance in the force.
Ding. An e-mail came sailing over some electronic transom to land on his desktop with a chirp and a whistle.
“Oh my, Everyman. Take a gander at this,” came Anders’ voice from over the cubicle wall, “That sound you heard was the door slamming her flat fanny on the way out.”
“Really? Mustn’t speak ill of the recently departed. Especially if they haven’t physically left the building.”
“Read the next paragraph.”
“Oh. OH. Oh my. I did not see that coming.”
Pimpgnosis 