Pablo couldn’t even remember the karmic twists that had brought him from an Ecuadoran coffee plantation, to this firm in New Hampshire.
He was lucky to have this job. He wasn’t lucky to have Robinson as a supervisor. If he hadn’t stopped to tell Pablo exactly how to do this project, Pablo would’ve finished it already. Wayne sure did like the sound of his own voice.
It reminded him of the corn-mills his mother had made him turn by hand as a kid – round and round, and round, and round, and nothing came out but a fine, dry, monotonous powder.
Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.