“Finally,” Larry said aloud. He had sequestered himself in his home office for three straight days, taking breaks only to sleep a few hours, to take bathroom breaks, and to eat. And to polish off nearly a bottle of bourbon.
Larry walked from his office into the kitchen where his wife was sitting and kissed her on the cheek. She pulled away, crinkled up her nose, and said, “You stink and you look like shit.”
“Wait until you see the mess I left for you on the coffee table in my office,” he said. “But I finally finished our taxes.”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneer prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Yvette Prior.