Seven
Everyone knew Martha would tap away at her keyboard to appear busy while looking haughty and smug. She looked around like “I’m doing my job, why aren’t you?” There was a running bet as to whether or not she was really typing anything. No one had managed to get a look at her computer to prove it one way or another. She wouldn’t even look at the screen, she would let her glasses slide down and look down her nose at everyone. They were all going to hell. She was making one of her little judgmental sounds “Hm…hm,” as Cara walked into work that day.
“A little late, aren’t we?”
“Oh, Jesus…here we go,”
“What do you know about Jesus?”
“You’re not my boss, Martha,”
“No, but I know who is,” she said, still typing away.
“Okay, b***h. Today is the day!” Cara said, running around to see Ma
