Average Joe

He was wearing a money suit – grey-black pants and a blood red shirt, both of which were stained with what looked like candle wax or hot glue. He was the person you’d imagine when reading about the classic business man. “Average Joe”. An exact replica. He had bloodshot eyes and gray stubble. A receding hairline followed his brown combed-over hair. He had a cell phone on his hip and no time to spare during checkout at the local drugstore. He would go home to a wife, kids, and a happy dog and continue his miserable life at dinner, in the shower, in bed, at work the next day…until his wife did the laundry and saw the stain on his pants. And “Average Joe” would end his miserable life and become another number in the obituary column. Co-workers would move up the ladder of success in bittersweet rivalry at their dead supervisor. And then life would move on. At the local drugstore the cashier would hear nothing of this reverie, the description of “Average Joe” just another ever-fading memory.