SHORT SHORT FICTION by Jane Genova
The driver had been a Roman Catholic priest with an advanced degree in theology. Not much of a demand for either so here he was taking this management consultant from his home in Wilton, Connecticut to his office in Manhattan, to clients and lunches with those clients, and back to the manor.
Every Thursday, the driver had to make an extra trip to Jersey City, New Jersey. There was an Italian bakery which sold canoli made with rum, chocolate, pistachios and dried fruits. The management consultant called the canoli on Thursday "his kind of sex." Constantly the management consultant ranted about men like Eliot Spitzer who had gone for the real thing and lost it all.
At 5:35 P.M. the driver picked up the management consultant at his Park Avenue office. The management consultant saw the bulging white box filled with canoli on the back seat, where it always was on Thursday. His body shifted into over-drive. That was it. It was one canoli Thursday too many. The former priest never liked the guy. As he waited for the EMT, he gave no last blessing.