Details about The Goal
The Goal – The check in the thin lobby reveals to me I have 52 minutes to make a brief drive on the off chance that I need to get to the gathering on schedule. I check my handbag once more, yet the keys aren’t there. I go through the different areas. Dresser? No. Washroom? Was simply there. Kitchen? Possibly—I’m going to turn when I hear a jingle of metal behind me. “You searching for these?” Contempt lodges in my throat as I pivot and step into a lounge so little that the five bits of dated furnishings—two tables, one loveseat, one couch, and one seat—are crushed together tight as can be in a can. The piece of tissue on the sofa waves my keys noticeable all around. At my moan of aggravation, he smiles and pushes them under his workout pants covered ass.