Janice, with lacquered bobbed hair that smells of fresh pine and grapefruit, begins each morning with a half pot of dark roast coffee and three cigarettes. On weekdays, she grumbles as she dresses while listening to the daily news. With a sigh, she leaves home at 7:18 a.m., strides two blocks to the transit station then stands twenty-three minutes on a crammed and noisy light rail train.
At work, a co-worker boasts of the new addition to their family, Janice mumbles soon enough he’ll grow up, leave home then come back with a bag of dirty laundry and a box of bills. At lunch, a close friend giggles about her new found love, Janice pulls apart a dry chicken sandwich and scoffs he’s the third one this month. At 4:38 p.m., she saunters back to the transit station then stands twenty-three minutes on a stuffed and stifling light rail train.
For dinner, she poaches a bag of beef with vegetables in sweet and sour sauce, and microwaves leftover Pad Thai noodles. In the evening, she settles into her favourite dark leather chair with a bottle of white wine and a stale bag of puffy cheese balls. As in most evenings, she mutters and yells to the drone of the television set, then cries herself to sleep with a crust of orange crumbs around her mouth. Janice is, generally, in an unhappy state of mind.
YOU ARE READING
Speaking in Mirrors
Short StoryIllustrated short stories. Seeking connections, a glimpse or a sigh; stale hotdogs and greasy beef jerky; reincarnation and landfills; King for the day; whiskey, lacquered hair and keeping happiness – tall tales of a small city.
