He wanted to peek to see if the robber still lingered but he could not see without moving his head up and back. He listened for any movement, but only...heard his own quick breathing. He looked for any surface that would reflect the image of the murderer behind him. The bank had painted the vault an olive green. Mr. Florentino chose that color because it reminded him of his hotel room where he stayed in Venice, but his shade of green looked more like pea soup. Nothing reflected. He closed his. I have been on my feet all week, giving presentations, running from meeting to meeting. I need this. Finally, I lay back down peacefully, and open my eyes. A man is now sitting next to me. Oh God! How much has he seen? I feel immediate embarrassment. It’s unsettling to know that a stranger has seen you at your most vulnerable, at your most you. I think we are only really ourselves when we are alone. And this man saw all of that, all of me. The shame turns to anger quickly though, when I see. More

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