“Not now.” Wayne had just plopped onto the sofa with a beer when Rocky climbed into his lap. He tried to push the cat off, but Rocky gouged his claws through Wayne’s chinos into the flesh of his thighs. His gaunt gray body seemed to convulse in the ecstasy of his purr.
You wake in the morning with a job, a paycheck and a standing in the world. You return from lunch and the head of human resources escorts you to the elevator in the walk of shame. Unfortunately, we’re eliminating the position. Fifty-three years young, more than a decade away from social security, and Wayne was back on the job market peddling his obsolete skills in print production. Bottom feeder. Lowest on the food chain.
There’s so much more to this story but it’s not yet available online.