The Waiting Room

"'I'm here for an interview with, ah... Mr. Jenson." "Thanks," said the receptionist. He felt more than saw her purposeful scan of his appearance. In his mind, the just-noticeable wrinkles in his only white collared  shirt became words scrawled in thick, black permanent marker. I'm not good enough. A days' stubble. Hastily tied necktie. Thrift store dress … Continue reading The Waiting Room