Flesh Trap

For twenty-five years Carroll Robinson opened Sherman Brothers Bank every morning at eight o’clock. He woke up beside his wife Donna to hum of the same alarm, slipping from the bed and into the bathroom, readying himself to shower, shave and dress for work. Breakfast was on the table by six-thirty, Donna murmuring AM radio songs in the kitchen while she cooked. Carroll read the paper over toast, eggs and coffee with cream. At seven-thirty he took his coat up from the rack at the door and gave Donna a kiss on the cheek, bending to meet her and wish her a good day. Donna always smiled.

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