Tell A Tale in 500 Words

For More Sense By Christina Shin

Two shops down from the Corner of Mayfield Street stands a little hotdog cart with four bold, black words strewn across the sign at the top: JUST FOR MORE SENSE. From the nonsensical words, you assume that the owner must be a foreigner that has problems with his or her English or is simply careless about his business. Either or, it doesn't really matter to you because that hotdog cart has nothing to do with you. It just happens to be a little quirky sight on your way to work.

However, you slow the pace a little and continuously stare at this anomaly, as if a longer perusal will make the hotdog cart spill all its secrets. When you finally manage to rip your eyes off of the plain cart, you immediately spin back around. Some rays of sunglight reflects off the leather cover of the red journal that caught your eye. After a moment of hesitation and a quick glance around your surroundings, the sight of no one nearby makes you brave enough to pluck the red journal behind the sign and quickly strut your way away from the scene with the red journal tucked underneath your right arm.

After watching all those crime shows at home, you know to look calm and collected as you say "hello" to Bob and that one secretary whose name you can never remember while walking into the office. Once you are behind closed doors, the fear of getting caught is replaced with excitement/anxiety of what may be inside this red journal.

Just when you are about to open its secrets, the mahogany door bursts open, and before whoever it is enters, you chuck it behind your desk. When your boss walks in, a plastic smile hides your internal groan of frustration. This is going to take a while.

Forty minutes have passed until you are nodding repeatedly and laughing as he thanks you for agreeing to drive him to his daughter's dance recital and walks out the door. You drop your act and run towards your desk because all you could think about during those forty minutes was the red journal. While you are on your hands and knees rummaging in the dark expanse under your desk, you start to get worried.

There is no small rectangle on the ground.

You think back to your conversation and convince yourself that there is no way your boss could have seen or picked it up. In the middle of your confusion, you sit back in your chair and shake your head in denial when something catches your eye.

On top of your desk, in a neat little stack are just four more cents.

So, you forget about the notebook and get back to work and return to your normal average life.

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