Gwendolyn Bridges

Smashwords Edition, Copyright 2014


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Earl Brookfield barely looked at me as I shuffled into his office, closing the big glass door behind me to shutout out the hustle and bustle of the newsroom. The middle-aged man with a who-is-he-kidding combover and a permanent five o’clock shadow was preoccupied with a styrofoam carton of leftover Chinese food. He shovelled the food into his mouth with one hand, snapping his fingers at me with the other.

Lydia Richardson,” he said, beckoning me to a chair in front of his messy desk, his “EDITOR IN CHIEF” nameplate half-buried under a pile of print-outs. “Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.”

He slurped down a long noodle then finally made eye contact with me.

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