Lessons in Rollerskating, Loss, and Riding the Wind
Mia Wang, ’26. I looked at Flynn, then the rutted ground. Slowly, I lifted my right foot, placed it down. Iwobbled, then stood still. I subconsciously reminisced about the first time I went skating. I had apair of pink skates, cartoon pattern imprinted onto the plastic, just like any 5 year old girl wouldhave asked for. We went up the staircases of a building 30 minutes from home, up to the thirdfloor. I don’t remember much about the lesson itself, but while we were getting ready to gohome, I saw the other children speeding across the rink, hand in hand…
Keep readingWhy I Never Travel
Anonymous, ’24. “I have always wanted to write a fiction story about being stranded alone on an island and the emotions you might be going through.” We’re losing altitude. I’ll try to control the plane but we are going to crash. That is what I heard on the loudspeaker on the airplane. I never thought the first time I’ve ever been on a plane it was going to crash due to all the people talking about how much they love traveling. I looked out the window; at first the trees looked small but we were falling fast because now the…
Keep readingDying
Anson Richman, ’24. I am running. Running from the past. Running from the future and present. Running from Trade SquareMall’s flimsy excuse for security. Running from my friend. I don’t run very much, and I’ve only been chased before in dreams, so I am acutely awareof my feet and legs, and everything surrounding them. On a good day, I can clear Foot Locker inthree strides, but today it takes me five. Two right turns to get to Ray’s, where the red tiles on thefloor turn a pinkish hue. I don’t have to look up to see where I’m going. I…
Keep readingDEPTH OF FIELD
By Vivian Pan, ’25. My mother’s eyes always look alert. Wide open at all times. Even though they are smaller than my sister’s, they give an even more passionate stare. When I struggle in school, I burn by a glimpse of subtle disillusionment that nests in her gaze. The welcoming sparkle slowly disappears and the surface of her iris becomes dull and matte. A stone statue; unpolished and grainy. Rough and muted. She always relates the Chinese idiom that “the eyes are the way to the mind.” I struggle to understand its vagueness. I can’t help to notice the miniscule…
Keep readingUntitled
Anonymous. Short story. The old house had always been a source of fascination for the locals. It was said that it was cursed, that anyone who entered the house would never return. But Ashlyn didn’t believe in curses. She was determined to explore the house, no matter what the consequences. Ashlyn had always been interested in the supernatural. She had spent hours reading books about ghosts, vampires, and other creatures of the night. The old house seemed like the perfect place to explore her passion. She gathered her courage and set off towards the house. As she approached the house,…
Keep readingReading Glasses
by Celeste Amidon, ’16. “So. How did you two meet?” By the time the food came, there were already three empty bottles of Prosecco on the table. Michael Fynch watched Allen Smith tap his cigarette out onto the empty bread plate on his placemat before pushing it away to make room for the steaming plate of squid the pimply young waiter was setting in front of him. Michael watched the Smiths dig into their meals with an air of detachment. Allen worked in finance and she, Miranda, was a 40-something Liverpool-born socialite wannabe. Her arms were wrapped in stringy tendons…
Keep readinglife as he knew it
by Katie Scholl ’15. It was a lovely day. Outside the stately dwelling there were green trees, and green grass. As young Adam viewed the garden, all he could notice forever was green, if not to count the yellow square in the sky. Black butterflies mechanically cycled out of the grass, only to disappear again moments later. Other than the absence of pollution, you would think it was the olden country days. That’s what the world prided itself upon. It was the year 3102 and there was no more need for technology. There was no more need to carry around…
Keep readingA hero’s welcome
by Abi Starck, ’16. The walls of the cavern began to shake and the ceiling started to crack. People rushed to leave, terrified of the ceiling caving in. Most of my familial unit decided to stay behind; they had heard that the land above was safe. They would not sway from their ideas. We wore our most resistant armor, the heavy cloth with metal plates sewn throughout, hoping that it would protect us from the intense light above. We pulled bits of fungi, the best air filters, from the exit of the tunnel. They became our masks that would give…
Keep readingNumbness
A short story by anonymous. He wakes up to yelling on the street outside. He stands up, bleary eyed. He looks around, sees a pile of clothes in one corner, a sleeping bag in the other. He walks over, puts on the clothes, opens the door and walks into the hall. The Iranian woman begins yelling at him, something about some bills, he doesn’t care. It’s the same way at the end of every month, yet he’s still here. He walks outside, sees three men sitting on the stoop. The men are talking rapid Spanish, but stop and stare at…
Keep readingThe World’s Stage
By Anonynymous, ’24. Fiction. Acting is an art form used to entertain audiences. Many people praise actors for their performances, after witnessing characters blooming to life. Actors are like godly beings able to hold each and every character in their grasp. They are able to control their own emotions far better than any regular person. They are successful beings who rarely struggle. At least, that’s what I thought before becoming one myself. Godly beings able to hold each and every character in their grasp? Hardly. More like these characters are the ones who have you at gunpoint. Trapped in role…
Keep reading25¢
By Melinda Jiang, ’24 Serious, severe, and fast-paced, Nyss was always on the move. She needed to be.The heel of her boots clicked against the concrete in perfect rhythm. Click, clack, click, clack.There was no stopping, no going back, and no time for cowardice or second-guessing.The world behind only contained jail cells and dead ends. Once the first few pieces of fine jewels had entered her pockets all those years ago, it was already game over.So she strutted forward–the only direction she could go.Nyss was always on the move until the clicking of her heels came to a halt.On that…
Keep readingUntitled
By Sejin Choi, ’22 Ever since she was a little girl, she felt like she was missing something. She dreamed that she would one day find it and finally feel whole. If not, it was okay, because she doubted that anyone ever felt whole anyways. The first time she looked up at the drunk, heavy night sky, she knew at first glance that the only thing that could make her feel whole were the stars. Since then, she sky gazed every night, trying her best to articulate to others the sense of fulfillment and thirst she got simultaneously. During the…
Keep readingSeaside Procession
A vignette by Editor-in-Chief Jacob Landau, ’22 I’ve never seen the wonders of an Aquarium on a weeknight; perhaps only when the weather has been too treacherous have I wanted to go. Who would bother to waste their energy climbing through the snow onto the purple line, among strangers, only to watch the fish in their foreign land? And even so, why subject yourself to such horrors on the train to get there? The T, among strangers, is of the most chaos in its joint captivity; everyone is stuck in a foreign place until they have an opportunity to leave.…
Keep readingUntitled
A Vignette by Lucy Calcio, ’22 She gazes through the droplets forming on the windowpane in front of her. The drops splash on the window and slowly make their way down, racing each other across each pane, then finally falling in the same wet puddle below them. She looks beyond the droplets as the waves crash below the gray sky that vastly spreads above the beach. One after another, the white foam surfs the top of the wave as it holds on until the sweet relief of crashing over the top and on the sand below it. She remembers her…
Keep readingTogether, Forever
You tap your foot with nervous excitement as you sit in the waiting room at the MIT Medical hospital. At first glance, the room looks like a typical foyer. However, the hospital has been a state-of-the-art facility for biotechnical research for the past decade. You glance around the room disapprovingly at the worn leather chairs, cheap paintings, wooden tables, and old magazines. Unfortunately, only the expensive holographic projector displaying the latest local news in the corner hints at the cutting-edge technology hidden inside the building. You drift away from the projector’s babble and think back to when you started your…
Keep readingLife on the Docks
Essay from an anonymous student: Call him David–that’s his name. And much like the Biblical King, he was young; nineteen years old, to be exact. Fresh out of high school and acclimating into his first semester of college, he decided to take a weekend off. He’d visit the docks—it would be nice, he thought. Free from the burdens of higher education, would enjoy an afternoon by the seashore, the sea breeze running through his mane, the salt in the air tickling his tongue and leaving the fresh taste of ocean waters. David noticed a sign on the docks. In a…
Keep readingGrapes
a vignette by anonymous, class of 2023 Smiling is a privilege. There are some who can wake up in the winter with short days and still be smiling when the orange sun sets, hiding itself away from the constant disruptive buzzing that hums on the ground. Even there, there was a smile that was seen from miles away. The room was gray with dimmed lights. It smelled of bright blue detergent, but the teeth still shined bright with dimpled cheeks. They were dressed in all black but her eyes still lit up like streetlights on a deserted highway. That room…
Keep readingdavid and the yak
a short story by Timothy Bonis, ’22 The morning two days before A. S. was supposed to travel home to Kensington for Easter, British Rail decided to strike. Mostly it was no issue; A. S. knew he would drive back to London and one of his roommates, David Blair, was a scholarship boy from Liverpool who didn’t go home for Easter holiday. His other roommate, Weetman Harold Miller Stewart, was a whole different kettle of fish; he was already the fourth Marquis of Badenoch and was already complaining. “Aunt Arabella’s recounting us all to her seat in Atholl for Easter.”…
Keep readingcat cult
a short story by anonymous The Amulet of Beatrice Walker gleams unnaturally in the moonlight, casting soft green shadows onto the ground. Frantic hands scrabble to climb up the mound of loamy dirt, scattering dust into the air, scattering dust into the thieves’ lungs, scattering coughs into the air—all muted with a signal from the small black cat seated at the foot of the mound. Silence reigns, sprinkled throughout with awkward coughing. “Cocoa, what is it?” asks one of the thieves at last. The cat, Cocoa, stalks to the door of the old warehouse, and gives one pointed meow, glaring…
Keep readingthirst
a short story by Evan Chu, ’24 I’m not fully human anymore after that incident in the mall… Tokyo, 1994 My name is Ishiki Matsui. I killed Yamada Hiroki, my classmate and only friend, but it was just a part of my job. He was my prey, and simply a part of my income. I am an assassin. I don’t feel any sorrow because I am the predator, working for anyone that can pay me enough. I have no dreams, no emotions, just the desire to kill. It was following me… an unpleasant presence looms over, and binds me in…
Keep readingdiary entry
a short story by Anna McGrew, ’24 December 29th, 2019 Chinese Proverbs, chiiiiineeeeeese proooverbs, chinese prooooooverrrrrbs. Sometimes when you say the same phrase over again it just sounds like hooey. I mean, I am taking US history class to learn about the US, not freaking Chinese Proverbs. Who even cares about Chinese Proverbs; honestly, I don’t like Chinese proverbs and I’m Chinese. Since I’m Chinese everyone expects me to be Mr. straight A’s even though I have straight C’s. My parents are white, I am adopted, and I am pretty sure I’m stupid. Oh, and I’m not athletic whatsoever. I’m…
Keep readingunrecognizable
a short story by Sydney Levitt, ’24 Black. All I saw was black as I lost the feeling in my legs. But then I saw a small light that peered through my opening eyes as the cold, wet grass swayed besides me. It felt like the world was spinning around me until I couldn’t figure out which way was left and which was right. I shut my eyes again to keep myself from vomiting as the dizziness continued to grow. I inhaled deeply and during the exhale, I felt two firm hands grab my arms and squeezed. I gasped and…
Keep readingtoilet days ™
a short story by Libertad Vaughn, ’24 The door locks shut as the giant mass moves towards me. It comes closer, and corners me into the wall next to my friend that is forced to weep with a turn of a handle. Unable to move away, I see the crack that splits the monster in half come hurdling after me. I would have run away if those things hadn’t bolted me to the wall and trapped me in this white room. The figure heaves on top of me so my screams get muffled down the drain but my body refuses…
Keep readingthe trapdoor
a short story by Lila Malek, ’24 It was one of those nights again. You know, those nights. When your parents have company over and your mission is for them to forget about your existence. My large four story, antique filled Victorian house is in a quiet town in Maryland. The town isn’t the only quiet thing here. I live alone with my dad in our unnecessarily large house. Besides the occasional check in from one of the cleaning ladies, I’ve kept myself in isolation from my father, your average CEO of a law firm, middle aged money man. I…
Keep readingthe scarecrow
a short story by Lily Jin, ’24 That frosty autumn night, a cold wind carried a lone soft whisper. The young lad was taking a stroll when he looked up, only seeing a smiling face of a straw scarecrow gently swaying in the wind. He scratched his head in confusion, swearing that he heard a faint voice. But as he walked past, the scarecrow’s button eyes followed his every move. “Come here… I’m lonely …” the scarecrow whispered, hoping, longing, begging for him to turn back. The boy spun around, and their eyes met. Overcome with curiosity, his trembling hand…
Keep readinglife-changing hallway
a short story by Mia Hasselback, ’24 She had lived her entire life in this house, but she was still standing in a hallway she had never seen before. Her name is Blair. She is an obnoxious, bratty 16 year old girl. She was homecoming queen 2 years in a row at her high school in Charleston, South Carolina. She is the most popular girl at her school. She has it all: a boyfriend,David the football teams captain, many loyal and kind friends, good grades, and a loving family. She is an only child and lives in a massive modern…
Keep readinghit the slopes
a short story by Clara Renner, ’24 Zip! I closed my suitcase, then rolled it out into the hallway and down the stairs. It made a thud with each step I rolled it onto. “Can we keep this house quiet for ONE SINGLE second of the day?” Mom yelled from the kitchen. “Yeah Caleigh,” Spencer said once I dropped my suitcase off at the front door and came into the kitchen. “Spencer, you’re louder than me and you know it.” I said. “No I’m not!” “Yes you a—” But mom stopped us with an exasperated sigh. “Guys seriously. Spence, are…
Keep readingthings that go bump in the night
a vignette by Anjali Jain, ’21 Timmy sits cross-legged on his bed. It’s too dark to see the bright rocket ships zipping across the quilt, but when he stretches out his fingertips, he can feel their shapes, the neat rows of stitching that hold this little universe together. He feels the midnight coolness on his skin. Outside the little window, the wind slices through the trees, and they shudder and hiss in peevish protest. Soon enough the gust fades away, leaving the murmurs of the heating system. It shifts through the walls with gossipy whispers and whines. It is restless.…
Keep readingthe one who led me home
a short story by Emily Banthin, 20 Maurice had left me a message not more than twenty-four hours earlier asking me to make the journey from my city apartment out to her suburban cape-style house so we could have the chance to discuss a few matters from earlier on. Those were her exact words: “I thought we could discuss a few matters from earlier on.” In all the time I had known Maurice, about fifteen years now, I would not have chosen to describe her as cryptic. What were “a few matters?” And what did she mean by “earlier on?”…
Keep readingperhaps
a vignette by Kathleen Segal, ’19 “For the first time, he heard something that he knew to be music. He heard people singing. Behind him, across vast distances of space and time, from the place he had left, he thought he heard music too. But perhaps, it was only an echo.” ― Lois Lowry Ickh that’s bright. I grimaced, squinting against the harsh light. Before I could fully adjust to the light, I found myself facing the corner again. Then the window. Then the wall. Back to the window. Upside down. Sideways. And there’s the corner again. I grew taller,…
Keep readingsea remedy
a vignette by Corynne Stollerman, ’19 The angel dumped the contents of the orange bottle into his quivering palm. With the precision of an owl stalking its prey, he picked up a pill and dropped it in the section of his pill organizer labeled “Monday.” The chalk-gray tablets left a powdery residue on his fingertips. He picked up another and transferred it to Tuesday. The entire pill sorting process usually took upwards of half an hour. The chalky pills he was sorting now were the first in a long line up, with bottles of giant capsules filled with translucent liquids…
Keep readingswings to space
a short story by Jacob Landau, ’22 They were just children, not entirely sure who they would be yet or where they would find themselves next year, but they kept propelling themselves through the air with their short, insignificant legs nonetheless. Neither of them really knew anything at this point in their lives, however they were both especially perplexed by the endless depths of space. Somehow, they hoped they could be thrusted up to discover its hidden and untampered beauty. Chain links kept them attached to the earth, even though their minds were far beyond anything that could be found…
Keep readingthe one to blame pt. 2
an excerpt from a horror story by Inara Pirani, ’19 “Nice jacket by the way. You a big fan of the Bulldogs?” Logan asked, pointing to my varsity jacket. Oh man. Hockey. I always dread the sports-related conversations. I never keep up with this stuff, so I never know what to say. Hockey is boring; all you do is watch a bunch of dudes on steroids kick a puck around with a stick. “Uh not really,” I said. My face must have been looking like a tomato by now. “You’re NOT?!” three boys asked at once. Shoot! I’d hit a…
Keep readingthe one to blame pt. 1
an excerpt from a horror story by Inara Pirani, ’19 My stomach flip flopped as I followed my new principal, Dr. Trent, down the worn, rubber-lined steps of my new school. My legs felt like jello as Dr. Trent turned down a long hallway. I hated meeting new people. I’ve never been that outgoing person, who introduces themselves to everyone they see. What would I say to people? “Hi, my name is Colton, and I just moved from Toronto to Engleheart in Ontario. My parents got divorced a year and a half ago, but I haven’t heard anything…
Keep readingfalling leaves
a poem by winter contest winner, ’21 They say that sticks and stones Will break your bones And words will never hurt you But sticks and stones When you’re all alone Can make words stick like glue Like falling leaves Bruises go away But pain inside Is here to stay The frigid air Never aware Of what it does to you The human voice Makes sound by choice And hurt you never knew Like falling leaves Bruises go away But pain inside Is here to stay
Keep readingthis is the fall
a story from the winner of the writing division of the fall contest, ’21 This is the fall my life fell apart. This is the fall when the gods struck their anger down upon the tiny island where my roots spread through the sea and nestled next to the coquí frogs as they sing their symphony every night while Maria raises her mighty fist and strikes her mighty blows. This is the fall of the boricuas, dancing in the street while the power that’s been lost to them is promised to be restored by a hollow government who refuses to…
Keep readingchristina’s world
a vignette by Emma Cieslik, ’19 The smoky, dense air surrounds me and the stench of gasoline and burning leaves fills my nose. My leg stings, the open flesh rubbing against the rocky and prickly terrain. My childhood home sits visible in the distance, but with each crawl toward it, the barn seems to retreat from my failing limbs. The dried out grass sticks to my sweaty hands leaving small imprints from the blades on my palms. My head is filled with thoughts, though I can only focus my energy on the one that is screaming at me to run.…
Keep readingsurprise and gift
story by Anonymous “Chocolate?” I don’t like chocolate. I don’t like peanut butter, bananas, or chocolate, especially, not chocolate. “No thank you.” I said in my best American accent. I had taken that stupid English class for 10 years. It was starting to pay off. “Padre. Padre. No c’è buon cibo su questo volo.” I said. My father was tall, and had dark brown hair, with greenish blue eyes. He had reading glasses that he only used at work or in the house. I didn’t know why he never used them anywhere else, because he needed them. “No Italian, my…
Keep readingthe mission
Chapter 1 “Pa, I’m home. Brought back some of your packages from the post office.” Mark looked down at the package and noticed an envelope taped to the side of the box. It had the government seal on it. Except it was a hot press stamp, so I knew that it was official. The weird thing about this particular stamp was that the stamp was still hot, so whoever sent it wanted it here as soon as possible. “It looks important..” Mark yelled hoping that his father was upstairs. “Pa?” He looked around the house for his father. Then he…
Keep readingcold
a story by Erin Barry, ’19 On a newly refurbished porch in Hamburg, an old man stretches his weary back, knotted and twisted with long held aches from long ago exertion. His clothes are well tailored, with shiny buttons and a freshly pressed jacket. His shoes, dirty and well used, are the only exception. The morning is a cold, cold winter morning. Colder and sharper than previous years. The old man’s breath turns to a white fog in front of him, blocking his vision of the shattered glass on the street. He smiles tiredly at how it glitters and shines in the light.…
Keep readinga painting worth change
a story by Inara Pirani ’19 Letter from Di Alakija to Brooklyn Alakija Wednesday, September 4th 10:35 AM Hi Brooke, How are you? I guess I’m okay. I woke up this morning, made a bowl of oatmeal (now that I live by myself– ha!), then I took the train to work (because I can’t afford a car or a cab). It is now lunchtime and I am checking my Facebook and writing you a letter. I had a meeting this morning with some old rich dude who wanted to make sure that his will covered the fact that if he…
Keep readingthe truth about the magic school
prose by Grace Buller, ’19 Bridget Smith slithered down a hallway in the Magic School. The dark walls, lit up by the green lights, flickered down the hallway. She heard screams and the rattling of cages behind the many closed doors in the hall. Everything she once thought about the Magic School, as the daughter of the establishment’s founder, Richard Smith, was a lie. THAT MORNING The bright sunlight streamed in through the window of Bridget’s bedroom. She sat up and stretched as a servant rushed to her side. “Good morning, Miss Smith!” exclaimed Rory, Bridget’s servant. “Good morning, Rory,”…
Keep readingskins
prose by Maia Foley, ’19 There’s a bowling alley in Hyde Park where my family went nearly every weekend when I was a child. It was a small, family-oriented 1950’s candlepin joint that sold world-renowned ice cream at a wood-paneled counter with a green and white plaster surface that was sticky to the touch even after it was freshly cleaned. The linoleum floor tiles extended all the way back to the rental booth, and the ice cream bar was so close on the left hand side that it was impossible to walk by without glancing through the glass…
Keep readingthe search for gerald
prose by Caterina Baffa, ’17 It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.* “Gerald?” crackled an elderly voice, practically bursting Sam’s still sleeping ears, “Gerald, it is absolutely imperative that you come right now!” “Wrong number, weirdo,” Sam grumbled. After ending the call and slapping his flip phone onto his nightstand, Sam snuggled back under his black, fluffy blanket. Just as his eyes began to droop, the phone blared again, blasting Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of “How High…
Keep readingthe gold rush stampede
story excerpt by Tristan Martello, ’20 and Russell Hornung, ’20 MICK After Reece regained his health, we set out towards the gold rush. We drove up to an open field in front of the mountain full of gold. The truck wobbled, and pieces broke off, one after another. We slowed to a stop. We saw two lone figures mining on the mountain side. We stuck our heads through what remained of the windows, and looked around. “Wow guys! We get first dibs!” Reece said happily. He started to leave, but I looked in the rear-view mirror, and screamed, “STAY IN THE…
Keep readingconsciousness
short story by Kelly Rawson, ’20 She huffs quietly as the comforter rests softly on her head. The irritating, busy street noise of the city buzzed outside her window, despite the fact that it was just a little passed three in the morning. She grunts, frustrated with her uneasy sleep pattern. This was the twenty-sixth night in a row she hadn’t slept before her alarm went off. It was an awful habit she had gotten into. She had diagnosed herself with insomnia earlier on in her life when she would wake up more than five times a night, for no apparent…
Keep readingthe people’s rubble
novel excerpt by Julia Shor, ’20 Chapter 1: Trial by Trust The light was blinding, yet there was no one but him to see it. Why did he bother leaving the interrogation room? If it was possible, the light was even brighter here. As his eyes adjusted he began to truly appreciate the emptiness of the chamber. Unlike the streets, where he could barely move without tripping over a druggie, he had a large space to himself. Rows upon rows of seats lay empty; he almost wished for someone to fill them. Almost was the key word—if they were filled,…
Keep readinglocked doors
short story by Bailey Doe, ’20 No one knew what was behind the doors of Sector D, no one but the scientists working there. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a message from Caleb, the lead scientist in the star lab (the field I was working in). I didn’t know what was behind the doors of Sector D, but I guessed that I was about to find out. When I showed up at my office, I found a man standing there. “Hey, I’m Peter. So you’re the new recruit. Well buddy, you have no idea what…
Keep readingbalancing act
novel excerpt by Nora Bannon, ’20 Jordan I have never, ever wanted to be popular. If you were to describe my life to someone, they would expect me to be one of the cool kids. I’m six feet tall and look like a Barbie doll, which I hate. I live in a huge fancy old house in a rich town, and I play on elite girl’s soccer team. You could say that I have it made. But I’ve never wanted any of it. Well, I love my soccer team, but that’s it; the rest of it I would kiss goodbye…
Keep readingfresh air
recycled homework assignment by Rachel Landau, ’16 “Mom, I’m going outside,” Edith said as she closed the front door behind her. A casual walk, she smirked, intending to never return. She wanted the evening at the end of the driveway. A faster disappearing time. Isolate the musical consistent pounding of neckblood overcoming gravity, she thought. Pavement footsteps plus heartbeats equal a drumbeat sound smooth. Dim those pesky neighboring house lights. Frost the air with cold, paint the night with dark, fill the mud with ice. But instead the sun. The cut dandelions that announce themselves with a wave. That instantaneous response to…
Keep readingon the water cooler
story by Niles Breuer, ’16 His tie was too tight. It was nothing major, of course, nothing debilitating. Just that his wife pulled that extra little fraction of an inch so that his collar pressed into the side of his neck. Or maybe it was the collar itself. She never liked to spend the extra seven dollars on the shirts with the seventeen-and-a-half inch collars, so he always came up half-an-inch too short. But it was fine. Just fine. The sort of thing you wouldn’t notice. Unless, of course, you happened to be sitting in your office waiting for Mohan…
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