The Bridge


By Mike Lee

I was sad, so I went to the bridge, and about to jump when I realized I left the pot boiling on the stove. Upon arrival, there was mail. I had to read them. Then I pet the cat. He is needy. FedEx then arrived with a package. After he left I remembered the clothes in the dryer. After folding and putting them away I was hungry.

After eating. I took a nap.

I overslept.

When I woke up I did not feel the need about some damn bridge.

Mike Lee is an editor, photographer and reporter for a trade union newspaper in New York City. His fiction is published in Bending Genres, Ghost Parachute, Reservoir and others.

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