by R.T. Sehgal
When the letter finally arrived on a sunless Monday afternoon, its blue envelope was a bruise among all the white ones. He carried the entire stack up to his apartment, tossing the majority onto his desk before sitting down to examine the outlier. The sides were wrinkled from wear, but his name was written in the center of the envelope in perfectly smooth black ink. A sudden warmth filled his chest as his heart beat faster, harder, the blood coming in crashing waves up through his neck and into his head. He held the envelope for several minutes before choosing anticipation over disappointment. He tossed the blue envelope onto the pile, ignoring them all, at least momentarily.
R.T. Sehgal will occasionally leave something of questionable importance here.