The appearance of my car that morning should have led me back to bed; but for some reason i wound up at the bus stop. My car was upside down in its parking space along side a straight avenue packed with other commuters vehicles; all untouched save for my over turned Acura which had also been adorned with 20 some odd road cones. I stood across the street for a moment as if I just another casual onlooker. Keys in one hand briefcase in the other. A blue tooth in my ear. My plain black tie fluttering in the wind a bit as if dancing with my neatly ironed white button down; billowing briefly in the same breeze.

I turn slowly in a daze and start walking, or more meandering, to the corner to catch a bus. Aboard the bus i sit in a filthy plastic chair among the other unfortunate souls forced into public transportation bondage. My briefcase on my lap, my keys still in my hand. I am motionless; I am zen. After my third lap in the revolving door I finally break its gravitational pull and emerge in the bustling lobby that is the first of many obstacles at my place of business.

Today however it as if i don’t exist. I pass through the sea of high priced suits and secretaries like a hot knife through butter. Not an elbow is nudged, never once was I walking sideways at half gate. My pace never faltered, never missed a step. My briefcase in one hand; my keys in the other.

The elevator doors close the moment I enter and upon my arrival at my floor I exit with the same efficiency. Down two rows hang a left. Down six stalls hang a right. Pass the water cooler. Four more stalls, one last left. Five more stalls, stop before the potted plant. My cubical is empty.

Why is my cubical empty? the words floating in my head. They seem to have lost all meaning. I just gaze at the empty space illuminated by that cold florescent glow. I hear a noise in the background but it doesn’t register. I do not comprehend.

I feel pressure; a force being exerted on my shoulder. I turn to see what it is. A hand with a school ring. That must be Gary’s hand. I turn to meet his eye. Gary looks frightened.

“What’s wrong Gary?” My face seems to imply. He answers my question without my asking.

“I’m fine buddy” he says “but you weren’t meant to find out this way.”

My head just tilts a bit to one side in confusion.

“You should talk to Roberts.” He says.

Walk all the way down the row. Left. Straight. Keys in one hand, briefcase in the other. Corner office. Glass doors. The hand behind the desk waves me in.

“Please sit.” I stand. I stare out the windows as a voice begins speaking.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.” A bird flies by. “Position terminated.”

“Budget cuts.” Not a cloud in the sky. “to be notified last Friday.” Wish I was at the beach. “Lack of communication…”

I hear the voice trailing off behind me. B-line for the door. A left. A right. Stalls are blurs. Voices tailing me. Elevator rides going down always feel faster. Back through the sea of a thousand currents.

I breach through to daylight. I stand. Sun warming my face, forcing a squint.

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.” I glance right. John the security guard.

Some staticy words erupt from his shoulder mounted speaker and he takes a cautious half step towards me. His holster side hand twitches just so slightly.

Down the stairs; all 42 to the sidewalk. The pedestrian traffic flows around me like a stream. Briefcase in one hand, keys in the other. My tie licking the wind. The breeze blows west so I suppose I’ll follow.