Don't Eat the Messenger
/Work intrudes more and more into our home life. Even meals.
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…themselves delicately on the salad. As Collin G watched them, they moved again, and then a third time into a different pattern.
“Damn headquarters. Can’t I even have a meal in peace?” Collin reached into the pocket of his dark blue flight suit for his military-issue pad and took down the message. Studying the flakes, he murmured, “Anything else, Cappy?”
The flakes moved again, paused long enough for Collin to scribe his staccato black letters, then they coalesced into a single dark stack and jumped into his coat pocket…
By Lyndi Alexander
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