Joe heard the coffee filter through yesterday’s grounds and grimaced.
Gloria. Life with Gloria had been filled with dancing, martinis, late nights in nightclubs. Joe had muscle in the city back then. People knew his name, gave him respect.
After Gloria, life went sour. Joe took a slug of the coffee and spewed it on the desk. Sour and bitter.
When Gloria had sauntered out the door, Joe was squashed like a bug, a mess on the sidewalk with cigarette butts.
Gloria. If only. If only Joe could get a break.
A knock at the door caused Joe to look up from his coffee and cigarette. Gloria slinked through the office door. “Hey, Joe. ‘Member me?”
P.S. These words are from last Wednesday; this alternate story occurred to me. So I gave it another shot. Thanks, Delores.