Lunch

The sun beats down on my pale, pasty skin in a welcome rush of warmth. Off in the distance, cargo ships flirt with falling off the Earth where the ocean meets the sky. My perfectly polished toes trace circles in the sand while a cool drink filled with tropical, fruity goodness sweats delicately in my warm hand. I look over my sunglasses at the chair next to mine, where a cute guy I think I might know picks up a beer and smiles at me with a gleam in his eye. Playing coy, I return to the book lying neglected in my lap. It's perfect. It's paradise, it's nearly Hea...

The sun disappears, replaced with air conditioning so cold my ugly toes have nearly frozen off. The cute guy beside me turns into an older gentleman pounding out news on a computer. That tropical drink dissolves into warm gingerale and my boss stands where the ocean used to be, pointing out my latest professional failure.

And just like that, lunch is over.