I passed through the door to the next office following the scent. A labyrinth of cubicles was before me. I put my faith in my nose and started into th... maze. After several minutes and more than a couple of wrong turns that had forced me to back up and retrace my route, I found myself looking at the back of a woman of middle age. Graying hair cut in a pageboy style, a sweater around her shoulders and there on her desk the source of the aroma. It was a bag of microwave Carmel corn. I hadn't known. But it was now joined by other’s with busts for eyes, and a slit for their mouth’s. As the years past, I’d become accustomed to my dreams, even to a ‘limited effect,’ the way other people regarded me. Though that might have more to do with the fact I’d become somewhat of a reclusive, of sorts. It was basically how I spent my teenage years with only one exception. I reacted violently, ‘very violently,’ if anybody touched my bag. It was the bag I kept with that piece of red cloth of my sister’s. More

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