One of those scorching April afternoons.
The ceiling was high yet you could hear the creak of the fan.
He wanted a smoke. Too many people he thought. They made him nervous, especially women.
The typewriter could be heard in the background, and voices, he could not understand them but knew what they implied.
The box felt small and as he rested his hands they felt sticky.
“Why did you do it”, he laughed in his head at the obvious answer.
“My temptation stemmed from her revealing outfit, not my fault” he quivered
Now if he could get that smoke.
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