Sven retired early after his disappointing meeting. He had been hoping so hard for a raise, had been angling for a promotion. But the manager had not even looked at him, and even his pal Tapi hadn’t been there to commiserate. Fie.
Trudging to the bathroom, he turned on the sink tap and squeezed some toothpaste onto the brush. He stared sullenly at his reflection, a bit surprised at how ill he looked. He kept staring, forgetting the task at hand. What was it about him, he wondered, that made him so imminently forgettable?
Depressed, he ambled back to bed, his brushing forgotten. He lay on the covers, staring at his cracked apartment ceiling. He would make a difference, he swore to himself. Bright and early tomorrow, he’d be there with the doughnuts, a whole dozen of them. He knew what kind the manager liked, and would give him dibs. He had Tapi’s number too.
Yes, up early to buy ’nuts and coffee; time to add the poison.
As usual, Sven would be punctual. The early bird would catch the worm at last.