The stasis drops of mildewed kaleidoscopes shimmered in the distance as Bob once again realized he had left his coffee on the kitchen table.
“There are certain underling assignments that I may miss if given a chance at the big leagues,” he mused heading for the company cafe.”
This time, he would finally give a shot of that caramel liquid he had so yearned for so many times.
“If I don’t watch my waist line, nobody will.” He laughed to himself.
But no one was laughing. He had told the joke one too many times.
Swatting At Flies 