Small Places : Nick L Belardes [109 of 128]

• Social groups form among the staring, sad faces. I don't go to any of them. I notice Milt Butterlink in a black-and-white plaid suit.
• By himself, he leans against a wall and has that same boyish, wooden grin on his face. His hair is a mess.
• His fat hands stuffed in pockets. Because I know nobody else will, I walk over. "How are you?" I ask. He looks away.
• I leave him standing helplessly lost in his mortality. The next morning I find a small box on my desk.
• Inside is a black coffee mug with the likeness of Katie Starburn on it. "The ultimate in corporate farewells," I say.
• Mike: "What about a calendar?" Me: "Too much finality. Eventually you reach December."
• Mike: "Collectable coffee stirrers?" Me: "Too small to read the fine print." Mike: "Pens?" Me: "Everybody loses them."
• "I think I need a shot of whiskey. I'm gonna miss that girl," Mike says. "She sure brightened up the land of cubicles. Don't you agree?"
• "Oh sure," I lie. I can't help but think of what Katie said at the Day of the Dead party. She had spilled her hardened, dying heart.