Bad News Travels Slow — Continued

Fiction Saturday – Continued…                             

 

My old Buick was running on fumes all the way to the gas station. So was I. A “fill ‘er up” and a vending machine cinnamon roll got me on the road out to the industrial edge of town.

I never expected a place called “Granny Sweet’s Bakery” to look so much like a steel mill.

I was able to get past the security guard at the gate by telling him I was there answering an ad for a baker. After I signed in as Tommy Dorsey he gave me directions to the personnel office, which I ignored, and hiked up the stairs to the top floor.

The Head Man is always on the top floor. They always say it’s so they can look out over their accomplishments. I say it’s so they can see who’s coming after them.