mattmoore.blog()

He was already running ten minutes late. His stubble and hair were the worst combination of terrifying and unsightly. If Charlie was going to make it to Hattie’s birthday then he needed to finish piping the red buttercream frosting. Red was Hattie’s favorite color and he promised hand-crafted pastries weeks ago.

He was fifteen minutes late when the last bit of frosting was on. This is getting ridiculous. He surgically placed all of the little treats into a semi-opaque shallow box designed for the singular purpose of hosting a dozen cupcakes. He placed the container inside his bag, careful not to disturb the architecture of the frosting.

In order to not be late, Charlie needed to rush four blocks as fast as he could without running. He clutched the bag to his chest speed-walking while smuggling a confectionery sleeping baby.

Charlie cracked the door to the subway station with one finger and used his right foot for the rest. His frantic, sweaty face looked around for a conveniently absent clock. Keeping the bag level with one hand, he reached for the subway pass in his back pocket. He is interrupted with a stern and deliberate, “Stop!”

A shiny badge and pleated uniform repeats the single word instruction again. In the distance, a chorus of mechanical voices says, “The train is approaching.” Charlie says, “I need to… just… if I could please… my train…” Unaffected, the badge says, “I’m going to have to take a look in your bag.”

Charlie sighs while gingerly extending his bag. The officer snatches the package and drops it onto a white plastic table. The officer shamelessly separates the zipper to reveal a frosting massacre inside the plastic box. Then, in the background Charlie hears, “The doors are about to close.”