The scent of my last lover still lingers. Chanel No.5. Every married woman’s favorite. Someone once told me they sell a bottle every thirty seconds. I don’t doubt it. A smell so commonplace that my next partner probably won’t notice. Not that it would matter. I’m supposed to be married after all. A married guy looking for some fun.

“I’ve seen you before. Not here, in the hallway. My hallway. You don’t live here, I remember now, in Italy. Back in, oh, ninety-four ninety-five? Twenty-four years ago. I wish it wasn’t you, but it is. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen at the time, and looking at you now, still is. Sorry Julie, I lied. You left me for your childhood friend, so I guess you lied as well.

A stack of Post-its lands perfectly in front of me.

“Good,” our precise-armed new boss says. “Write it down and put it in the jar.”

I haven’t seen Post-its in ages, and in my day they used to be yellow only. This stack is yellow on top, then pink, orange, and finally green. Someone’s gone all out.

“Anyone else,” he says and tosses out stacks for everyone. I thought I was done with team building. But no. New boss, old ideas.

A short I wrote and directed for a competition. It wasn’t featured.

A short film I wrote and directed that won the Diamond Award for Best Film.

A short film I wrote and directed in film school. Shot on 16mm film.