Nerves

By: Ed Dzitko

The young reporter sat nervously on the edge of his seat, palms sweating. He hoped he was telling the newspaper owner how grateful he was for the chance to write with steady voice.

The old man listened, nodded, and spun his chair to look out the large window. He pointed outside with a shaking hand.

Father McGivney stood memorialized in bronze, arm raised overhead, blessing the city. “I call him ‘Fair Catch,'” he said. “Whatever you do here, be fair, and you’ll be fine. Maybe win us a Pulitzer.”

Now the reporter did wipe his hands. No pressure. None whatsoever.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: