The morning commute was ending like all weekday commutes. As I shoved my way to the surface it was time to start thinking about work: the fires I needed to put out or needed to start. I didn’t look forward to either, quite frankly. I’m a risk taker but lately it’s been in remission. “If I can just get through the day without making waves,” I thought, “my day will be a success.” (And it was only Wednesday.) I looked around at my fellow commuters climbing the stairs to the top, I mean the street. What were they thinking?
Suddenly, I heard music from above. Was it a celestial chorus coming to rescue me? Was my redemption imminent? Even better: street musicians were playing Vivaldi. Vivaldi! I stood there entranced for what seemed like hours. Finally pulling myself away to my beckoning cubicle I turned the corner and saw Glenda. Glenda had the most amazing hair I’d ever seen. What was happening to me? First my aural sense climaxed and now this. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
“Just a little mousse,” when I asked her how she did it. “And it’s all mine,” she added, as if she was reading my mind.
I’d gone to heaven the easy way. And I was surprised at what a changed man I had become. It lasted almost two hours. What? You’re surprised? Heaven on earth is never an all day thing.