The Game

John marched down the narrow corridor lined with the other offices until he found his. He dug around in his pants pockets for his key and slid it into the keyhole once he found it. He glanced up and down the corridor to see if anyone had entered it while he had been preoccupied. It was empty. With his hands still holding onto the key and doorknob, he thumped his head into the door, right into the sign with his name on it, and stood there.
“I can do this,” he whispered. “C’mon. I can do this.” He turned the knob, and pushed. The door did not open. It was still locked. He let go of both the door knob and the key and stepped back into the corridor. And just stood.
“Do it. C’mon. Do it,” he hissed.
“Do what?” Watkins from two doors down asked as he stood with a puzzled face.
A startled John’s feet left the ground together, so great was his surprise at the voice.
“Ah-ha-ha. Didn’t mean to startle you there, pal,” Watkins’s whiny voice teased. “Something the matter? Ah-ha-ha.”
“Er. Um. Hey, Watkins. Morning,” was all that John managed to recover with. “You going to the game tonight?”
Watkins perused John in silence for a long time. His mousy face contorted though a gamut of expressions from disbelief to suspicion and back to socially cordial. “What fucking game?” he asked through a gritted smile. “The game was last night. And I don’t ever watch the game. Ever. Ah-ha-ha.”

One thought on “The Game

  1. Pingback: The Game, Part II « Filling a Hole

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