What I Did Last Summer: Part I

Seven or eight or nine years ago (I don’t remember the exact number because I’ve repressed it), Doom walked into my place of work dressed in business casual attire. Hair styled in a manner similar to game show hosts from the ’70s or car salesmen from the ‘80s. Easy, confident smile plastered on a bland politician-like face.

The minute Doom entered the room, friendly-like, flying his plans and promises like a kite, I think we all heard the clock start ticking. I tried to get out. Before w...