My wife had late classes at the university, so rather than fight traffic to get all the way home, then have to turn around and drive back out to pick ...er up, I just stayed at work until she was done. Cindy used to stop back at my cube on her way out every night and bullshit with me for a while. Sometimes she just stayed and shot the shit until it was time for me to go. Sometimes she’d bring over a couple coffee mugs filled with wine—they kept those big boxes of Chardonnay in the art department. I hopped the small brick wall that separated my front lawn to theirs, it was only about two foot high and was only put up just to separate the land, and battered their old wooden front door with my fist, shaking away some of the peeling blue paint as I punched it. Everything fell silent inside, and I could only wait and stare at the distorted figure, hazed by the dirty stained glass built into the door, approaching. I felt my rage swell up inside my stomach as I could start to make out some of. More

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