Thomas hurried up the steps of the Jayroe Building on his way to a promising job interview--the first hopeful prospect he'd had in six months. His savings were almost gone; his unemployment benefits exhausted; his rent payment overdue. He was about two steps from being a homeless person. He saw a glove lying on the steps, started to rush past it, then, for some unknown reason, stopped and stooped down to pick it up. But the glove wouldn't budge. He tugged and tugged; it was as though someone had fixed the thing to the step with one of those super-glues. The glove was made of soft leather; it stretched but did not tear. Neither did it rip loose from the step. Thomas tugged harder and harder, to no avail. People stopped to gather round him and stare. He seemed not to notice. He was suddenly obsessed with trying to free the glove. That was the only thought in his mind, and it drove him on to greater exertions. After a while the people went away and left him alone. He was now perspiring heavily, still tugging at the glove. Finally he paused long enough to glance at his watch. It was 5:45 p.m.--already three hours too late for his interview. He had probably blown his last chance at a decent job. Somehow that didn't seem to mater. He returned to tugging at the stubborn glove. The only thing that did matter, now, was getting the damned thing loose . . . !
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