Bolt
There is a man in my office whose cubicle I must pass on the way to the lavatory. Every time I pass he is staring at his computer screen, wide-eyed, slack-jawed shock on his face. One hand is typically held palm up in a gesture that seems to convey both disbelief and supplication, and the other planted on the arm of his chair, giving the impression that he is ready to shoot out of his chair at any moment and run screaming for the emergency exit.
I wonder what he has realized that I have not…
