Click–scroll–click, click. He glanced for prying eyes, then perused the ads:

– bottoms

– tops

– curious

– cars

A rumble – not ready to look. What would Kara say? He couldn’t explain it. Stumbled across one promising big – rumble. Aimed the arrow, hesitant, when a voice shattered his isolation.

Smith. My office.

He closed the box – fastest click this side of the Marianas Trench.

Coming, Ms. Lawrence.

Stood, tucked, eyed his cubicle mate buried in quarterly projections, then scampered after her. Outside her office, his eyes met Scott’s, her assistant.

They smiled, looked away.


Stephen Ground lived for years in a remote, fly-in community in Canada’s north after his graduation from York University, then returned south to co-found Pearson House Films. His work appears in, or is forthcoming from Sky Island Journal, The Esthetic Apostle, (inparenth), Thin Air Magazine, or at stephenground.com. Twitter: @sualtmo.