Michael Wheetley rose from the table where he’d been drinking coffee to carry the cup back to the counter for a refill. He picked up the carafe and swirled the ebony liquid. Last cup from this batch, he realized, and wondered if he should make another pot. He yawned as he mulled the question, then realized his unconscious act had provided the answer. He set the mug down and moved over to the sink to run some fresh water.

As he mindlessly filled a new filter with grounds, his thoughts drifted to the real reason he was at home today. He had taken a sick day to work on his resume. He hated his job as an accountant for a family-owned regional gas and convenience store company, and he desperately wanted to find something else to do.

He pushed the button to start the coffee maker, grabbed the mug he’d just filled at walked back to the table and sat down before the computer screen. He’d updated his resume, which didn’t take much, since he’d been at the same job for the last six years. He ran his fingers through his curly red hair, and muttered, “What the hell do I want to do?”

He knew the answer. Really, he wanted to travel. And shoot pictures. But how was he supposed to do that?

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