Jim shrugged back into his long red robe, gave a quick, half-hearted swipe at his flaming mop, which was now even more out of control than usual, and shouldered his way out of the swampy atmosphere of the high school locker room. The soccer game had re-energized his previously smoldering brain cells.
The tedious honors Calculus class that he taught just before lunch was not the highlight of his day. Not that he didn’t like the subject matter, math had always come easy to him, but attempting to convince a group of 11th grade students that the logic of derivatives was actually something that they needed to master in order to survive was another matter.
He bantered with students as he made his way through the herd of students aimlessly hurrying to their next classes. He perked up even more as he got closer to his den, the kitchen. Jim was not a vain man, but he was not ashamed of his prowess in the kitchen. He was famous for his brussel sprouts sautéed in balsamic vinegar. Just thinking of the delectable creation made his mouth water.
Before he knew it the school day had expired and he was whizzing home in his well-used Volvo station wagon. He sighed audibly as his mind waffled between the stacks of Calculus problems he still had to grade and the fact that it was a beautiful day, and, with the slight breeze that was blowing, the conditions would be perfect for flying his new kite.
Of course, nature won out, and moving efficiently he checked his voicemails, changed out of his robe, the dress code at the...