Sometimes I Quit My Job

I took out the piece of paper where the resignation was typed and laid it on his broken desk. Like a cuckolded husband, he gazed in disbelief at the face he once trusted, and I begged myself to control the girlish smile that always dominates this type of discomfort. But I treated you so well, he was thinking, and this is where you take me? I answered honestly but my words grayed and wrapped my face and hands till I was completely plastic inside.

We both agreed that the various Tomos and Harukis at his school would learn to read consonant blends without my particular index finger on their progress trackers. That wasn't the point. The point, which we subtly strove to make clear, was that the piece of paper on his desk represented a short-sighted and selfish choice.