When he was halfway across the bridge, he pulled over — which, on a bridge like that one, meant his front passenger-side tire was mostly over the yellow line. He left the lights on, but killed the engine. The car shuddered and went silent.

For several minutes he just sat there, staring out the window at the lake, squeezing the steering wheel with his left hand and the briefcase with his right. It was time to go, and despite everything that had happened, the reality of the moment gave him pause.After a few deep breaths, he picked up the briefcase and exited the car. The air was cooler than he expected after the smothering heat of the day. He bent to retrieve his jacket, then shook his head and slammed the door, opting to unroll the sleeves of his white collar shirt.

He crossed the street, set the briefcase on the road, and leaned against the concrete barrier. Across the lake, he could see the office park where he worked, dark but for the few offices where the dedicated workaholics were calling their wives to say “Don’t wait up.”

The company had been… decent to him. They expected a lot; always more than what he gave, no matter how much that was. In return, they’d promised stock options, a company phone, extra vacation time, the ability to telework. They’d promised a lot. They certainly had promised.

He drummed his palms against the barrier, then straightened. His bills were paid. He’d been able to save up for a decent car. He was being melodramatic. Maybe it would be better to just go home.

“No,” he whispered. That would give them another eight years, and he would be damned before letting them have that. Time to man up and hurt them. Time to take away their greatest resource. He picked up the briefcase and stepped onto the barrier. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

“I hate you!” he screamed, hurling the briefcase over the edge. As it sailed through the air, the latches popped open and hundreds of pages and a dozen CD-RWs — everything he had worked on for the last six months — flew out and fluttered to the water. He stuck his arms out to the side, trying to stabilize himself, then let himself fall back onto the  road, stumbling but not falling.

He stood for a moment, breathing hard, then started yanking at his tie. It was bright red; he’d called it his favorite, though it just meant it was less loathsome than all the others. When he’d freed it from his neck, he ran back to the barrier and threw the tie over, watching as it spiralled down like a streamer at a New Year’s celebration.

When his breathing slowed, he returned to his car, started the engine, and drove off.

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