TOAST

Written by Rob C. Bartlett

For the fourth time this week, John buzzed in the postman for the apartment across the hall. He pressed his eyes against the peephole, nose pushed so hard against the door that he sniffed paint.

GAH! ANOTHER parcel for 206! John pondered for a second what they had ordered. It didn’t appear too inconspicuous. He fought an urge to dash outside and give the box a quick shake, hopefully revealing the identity of whatever naughty lay inside. The postman picked his nail and left.

John sighed and turned to stir his coffee. Rain bucketed against the windows. His sadness grew as another globule streaked down the murky glass. The CERB cheque still hadn’t cleared.

He smeared an extra thick layer of no-name chocolate spread on his toast.

Today would be a sad day.