Glitter bomb

Mr. Horsebath was having a horrible day. He had just completed his usual fourteen hour shift at Nimrod’s Outdated Electronics where he managed the Photo and Synthesis department. It was late August – the zenith of summer heat and humidity. He exited the store with his assistant in tow and made his way toward the subway entrance, wilting with every step. His black wool suit was absorbing the sun’s heat and becoming soaked. His big black hat was heating his balding head up like a dutch oven.

They finally got to the subway steps, and Horsebath started to feel faint. He stumbled on one of the steps and his assistant caught his great weight and kept him from hitting the steps hard. Horsebath took off his hat and started fanning himself. “You stupid idiot!” he said. “Why didn’t you let me fall and this would all be over! Take off my shoes and massage my feet!”

The assistant looked into Horsebath’s eyes to see if he was serious. There was no indication otherwise, and any doubt was erased when he yelled, “Massage my feet!”

The assistant reluctantly took off Horsebath’s shoes and the aroma of pickled foot shot through his nose like a smelling salt. The polyester socks were wet and clinging to the corpulent feet. He started massaging. It was pure agony.

“Harder!” cried Horsebath, and the assistant massaged harder. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he wouldn’t vomit.

“Even harder!”

Instead of rubbing harder, the assistant stood upright and took out a baggie from his pocket which contained pink, silver, and red glitter.

Horsebath yelled, “What are you doeee…,” but before he could finish, the assistant knocked off his hat, poured the baggie of glitter all over Horsebath’s sticky, sweaty head, and ran away into the rush hour crowd.