Toby pushed open the door of his small upstate apartment, tossing his hat and coat onto the couch as he entered and pressed the button to his answering machine. He looked around the trashed room wearily, barely listening to the droll of the message, already well aware of the money he owed the bank. The wall paper was peeling and the floors creaked as he walked, but it the location made its living worth skyrocket. Toby muted the machine and crossed the room to look out the window, unsurprised to see the usual view of a bustling street far below him. Right across from his residency was a casual little French bistro and just down the street was the newspaper firm that he had poured the last 14 years of his life. Longer, actually, if he counted when his father had brought him there for visits. He sighed, loosening his tie with one hand and pulling out his desk chair with the other. As he sat down, he stretched his arms before him and loosened his fingers.
Mother,
Thanks for the letter; I’m glad they’re treating you well out there. Over here, though, I’m very concerned. The paper is going down the drain. My employees are dropping like flies, half called to duty, and half of what’s left leaving because of wages… I can’t offer anymore than the $7.86 a week, with the debts and the threat of foreclosure on my tail.. And there’s this woman at the office, she refuses to comply to anything- it’s infuriating! She called me a snob yesterday in front of my head editor, could you believe? I would fire her, but I don’t have much confidence that I could spare losing another worker…
Toby sat, tapping the ‘j’ key of his typewriter, uncertain of what else to say.
“Forget it,” he said to no one in particular, resolving to finish the letter later. He leaned back in his chair, running his hands over his face in exhaustion. He was so tired of it all. The only solution for now, he thought, was to go to bed and so he did.
Maephly 