Brush.“Bob.” Brush.“Bob.” Brush.“Bob.” Brush.Bob brushed his teeth first every morning at 7:05 a.m. After brushing his teeth, Bob would shave, wash his face, put on his socks, undershirt, pants, and finally a shirt. Always in that order. Always.Except for this morning. Between brush strokes he would say his name.“Bob.” Brush.“Bob.” Brush.“Bob.” Brush.Bob looked into the mirror illuminated by the single fluorescent bulb. This morning was like any morning, with the exception of one thing. Bob looked deeper. He of course noticed the plain brown hair, parted straight and to the left side. He noticed the bushy eyebrows and trimmed sideburns and the lack of a tan—even though he lived in Miami.He noticed all of that, like he did every morning, but he noticed something more this morning. He noticed how bland, how pathetically normal he really was. He was an accountant named Bob.“Oh dear Lord.”He was a model employee of a large firm who had perfect attendance for the last four years.
