Marvin was the kind of guy
who could easily die in his cubicle
without anyone noticing for a few days
until maybe the odor of the Former Marvin
would cause Traci, the office manager, to investigate.
And even then, when she would scream in horror
upon finding his stiff corpse at his desk,
she would think, “Oh, what was his name again?
Mike? Marty? Something with an M, I think.”
For that reason, no one noticed
when Marvin didn’t show up.
He had had every intention to go to work
as he had done every day
for the past 15 years.
He got stuck at that red light,
the one that takes absolutely forever
about half a mile from the office.
Then he thought,
“I’ve never seen the desert.”
He made a U-turn,
got back on the expressway,
and drove west, away from the
disapproving silver skyscrapers
in his rearview mirror.
He mussed up his hair
and loosened his tie,
ignored the pings of email notifications
and mundane texts from his wife.
He turned up the radio
and rolled down his window.
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