Ten-Minute Write, No. 7

It wasn’t so bad, being in a cage with a monkey. The monkey was curious, but as far as roommates went he was very considerate. There was very little feces-flinging, and he was as decent a listener as Meredith had found.

Outside, it was raining, and their only visitor was a lone, ugly child with blond hair and a sour face, who wore a blue raincoat and sucked a red lollipop, sucking it right at them, staring, waiting, and yet unimpressed.

Eventually, the little girl’s mother called out her name, and the girl vanished, running to join the rest of the crowd eating sausages beneath the protective shield of a nearby bridge.

“I certainly never thought this would happen,” Meredith said. The monkey was picking at his fur in the corner away from where he’d shat a moment ago. “I don’t suppose you did, either,” she said.

The monkey looked up.

“No, I thought not,” she said. “No one expects this. Not in a million years, but life is strange.”

The monkey bared his teeth at her. She took this as him trying to smile, trying to cheer her up.

“I know, but you never expect this when you’re just going along, doing what the boss tells you to do, you know? They definitely don’t prepare you for this in college.”

The money laughed.

“Right?” she said. “I mean … I thought this was going to be a good job. Now look at me: in a cage, smelling monkey shit all day.”

He turned away, and she thought perhaps she’d gone too far. She didn’t want to insult him. He really wasn’t all that bad.

So she added: “Well, I suppose it could always be worse, right? I could’ve been a corporate lawyer.”