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<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="100%" class="forumline"> <tr> <td class="cat" width="22%">Autor</td> <td class="cat">Wiadomość</td> </tr> <tr> <td width="22%" align="left" valign="top" class="row1"><span class="name"><a name=""></a><b>saleskyflj</b></span></td> <td class="row1" height="28" valign="top"><table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> <tr> <td width="100%"><img src="http://picsrv.fora.pl/Avalanche/images/icon_minipost.gif" width="12" height="9" alt="Post" title="Post" border="0" /><span class="postdetails">Wysłany: Śro 16:08, 22 Gru 2010<span class="gen"> </span> Temat postu: story003</span></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><hr /></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><span class="postbody">But something was wrong. When he hung up his jacket, he saw that the bedroom closet was half empty. Paige&rsquo;s clothes were gone. Her shoes were not on the <br />Maybe an hour later, the phone rang. He picked it up on the fifth ring. It was Bob, wondering if Fritz was going to play poker later that night. <br />Fritz sat immobile on the edge of the bed. Her note was in his hand; her words were burning in his brain. <br />He saw an envelope on the lamp stand. Inside it were two pieces of paper. One notified him of a divorce proceeding. The other was a hand-written note from <br />restaurant that evening for just the two of them. That would be nice. <br />A small group took him out to lunch. When he returned from lunch, the whole office gathered around for cake, ice cream, a farewell card,, and a few short <br />speeches. They presented him with various going-away gifts, including a big, paperback US atlas. It listed all the motels, campgrounds,happy moments005, national parks, tourist <br />over. Not that he didn&rsquo;t like it. He had enjoyed his career. <br />underpaid father. He thanked God for his own good life,newport 100s stamp, and for the fact that he had been able to make his dad&rsquo;s last years comfortable. <br />Paige&rsquo;s car wasn&rsquo;t in the driveway when he got home. She was probably shopping for some traveling clothes. Maybe she was out arranging a dinner at a <br />suggested, she would not have been able to qualify for 50 percent of Fritz&rsquo;s pension. She hoped that he would find it in his heart to forgive her. She felt <br />His two children were married and had their own careers. His wife Paige kept busy with, among other things,newport menthol 100s, her bridge club. She had tried to get him <br />It was 10 p.m. Fritz said good night to his wife. She was watching TV. He went to bed. Tomorrow was a big day. It was his last day of work. Thirty years with the <br />interested in bridge, but without success. Fritz was content with his own Friday night poker group. <br />Paige. “I&rsquo;m so sorry,newport cigarettes,” it began. She said that her lawyer had told her to wait until today. If she had sought divorce a year earlier,cheapnewportcigarettes com, like her boyfriend had <br />day off. <br />spots, and other information to help guide a leisurely traveler throughout the good old USA. He had told his friends that he and Paige were going to spend a <br />couple of years visiting all the places that he never had gotten to explore while there on business. As a final gift, his supervisor told him to take the rest of the <br />Friday morning,cheap newport cigarettes, he went to work for the very last time. Those who knew him well would miss him. Fritz was a genuinely nice guy. He never had a bad word to <br />federal government. Thirty years of flying out of town for weeks on end. Thirty years of interviews, meetings, and heavy briefcases. Tomorrow it would all be <br />Fritz felt blessed. His father had had a tough life as an unskilled laborer. Whenever Fritz was a bit discouraged or upset,happy moments004, he thought about his overworked and <br />say about anyone. Some people might have thought he was a little dull, but he was intelligent, a hard worker, and a team player. He had taken only three <br />terrible about this, she wrote, because “you&rsquo;ve been so good to me. But I can&rsquo;t ignore my own heart.” <br />closet floor. Confused, he looked around the bedroom. <br />weeks of sick leave in 30 years.</span></td> </tr> </table></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" height="1" class="spaceRow"><img src="http://picsrv.fora.pl/Avalanche/images/spacer.gif" alt="" width="1" height="1" /></td> </tr> </table>
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