by J. Bradley

I take a packet of steak sauce out of my left breast pocket. I ignore the dotted line instructions of where to tear, swallowing the corner so it doesn't get stuck between my teeth. The tang slaps me awake enough for my hands to return like planchettes to the keyboard. I wait until my coworker in the next cube has her back turned toward me before pulling the chewed packet out of my mouth. I've got three packets left and it's 2:12 pm on a Monday. If only the cafeteria didn't close early today.


J. Bradley is the author of The Serial Rapist Sitting Behind You is a Robot. He lives here.