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  • Writer's pictureJeff South

Cinncinnati Chili: Snow

Grover opened the large white door of the refrigerator and rummaged through the contents. A carton of leftover Chinese food sat to the left on the top shelf next to a bottle of ketchup. A pizza box occupied all the space on the middle shelf. On the bottom was a Styrofoam clamshell container with the letters ‘CC’ written on its lid with a Sharpie.

“Bingo,” Grover said and it occurred to him he had always wanted to have a moment in his life that allowed him to say “bingo,” that wasn’t in a bingo game.

He hustled out of the lab, navigated through the hallways that lead to outer lobby of the Corporate headquarters and double-timed it to his car. His hands were trembling so that he dropped his key fob twice trying to unlock the door as he approached. The chill of the night air burned his lungs. It looked like it could snow. Upon collapsing into the driver’s seat he struggled to catch his breath and made a mental note to join the onsite fitness center the next day. The drive to his apartment was spent looking in his mirrors to make sure he wasn’t followed by Corporate suits. He wondered if such suits existed. Did men and women in black suits and dark sunglasses lurk about waiting for employees like him to steal proprietary information? What would become of him if they did exist? What became of Gwen?


He fished out his phone and sent a quick text:

I have it. Now what?

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