James finished editing Sue’s piece. It was shaping up. It didn’t really “sing” yet, but it was close. He rubbed his eyes, saved his work, and posted the latest version of her section on the collaboration portal.
The next morning James spied Sue standing by her truck in the far corner of the back parking lot. It was still dark.
“Everything okay?” he called.
“Can you help me?”
“Sure.” James walked over—she was holding a tire iron.
“Did you get a flat?”
When he looked down, she hit him flush on the temple. Words are personal.
The next morning James spied Sue standing by her truck in the far corner of the back parking lot. It was still dark.
“Everything okay?” he called.
“Can you help me?”
“Sure.” James walked over—she was holding a tire iron.
“Did you get a flat?”
When he looked down, she hit him flush on the temple. Words are personal.
