Fiction

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The Waiting Room

Fiction

"'I'm here for an interview with, ah... Mr. Jenson." He felt more than saw her purposeful scan of his appearance. In his mind, the just-noticeable wrinkles in his only white collared  shirt became words scrawled in thick, black permanent marker. I'm not good enough. A days' stubble. Hastily tied necktie. What am I even doing here?

By: dlindsko 3948 reads | 0 comments
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