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Luke looked down at his feet. He gulped, what he saw was not good. Not good at all. 

The shoes he was wearing were not a pair, on the left he wore a dressy show, freshly polished and on the other foot, well something, that one day in the past had been a sparkling white trainer, and which was now in an undefinable colour and a pitiful state. 

At least, this explained the sniggering of the school girls and the questioning looks he had encountered on his way to work. 

Luke felt sweat forming on his forehead, his heart started racing. He could no longer move. 

He felt as if he was stuck in a bad dream. But this was no dream, this was reality. No pinch could wake him here, no screaming, nothing. 

Why had he not concentrated on his shoes this morning? He had polished them last night with today’s presentation in mind. And then this morning, where had his mind been this morning? 

Of all days, today was not the day to f**k up. 

He had of course thought of the presentation, the impact it could have on his career, the chance that he had been given as a new employee. He knew this was the final test, that he had to pass. He had paid attention to the toothpaste, after all there are too many toothpaste stories out there. He probably did and undid his tie five times before being close to satisfied. Worst of all he had checked the polish of his shoes before putting them on. 

And now this? Luke checked his watch, he had no time to go back home, in fact he realised that he had to hurry to arrive at work on time. He didn’t even dare think of what might happen if he was to be late as well. 

What where his colleagues going to say? What would be the reaction of his boss, Mrs. Beetroot, be? She always had some sort of comment for Luke. 

Out of breath, he pushed open the glass doors, swiped his keycard, passed the tourniquet and hurried to catch the closing elevator. 

“Oh, good morning Mr. Birke, ready for your big day?” a round, rather small lady dressed in a purple suit asked. 


Written by Solveig Werner