Sweat was dripping into his eyes. A single bead hung from the tip of his nose. He swiped it away with the sleeve of his dress shirt. He took a ragged breath and closed his eyes. Then stepped down onto the napkin-wrapped glass.
The glass slipped from under his foot. It bounced across the carpet, shedding its napkin like a molted skin, and came to rest in the middle of the aisle. Her father strode over and stomped, then walked back to his seat.
The crunch echoed through the temple. An old woman who wasn’t paying attention shouted “Mazel Tov.”
***
Title by: Jean Frances
Story by: Jenny
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