Sitting in my cubicle, I can almost admire the acoustics of the place, if it wasn’t for the feeling of dread in my stomach. I hear voices outside and pray for a little privacy, but it’s not to be.
I can feel the pressure mounting; the critical moment that I’ve been dreading. People chatter close by, reliving a stag party. In the background, I can hear the intercom muttering something about not leaving your bags unattended, but I have other things on my mind.
I can’t wait any longer.
My fart erupted, shuddering through me, and silencing the room beyond.
