Bursting at the seams
I almost see the sun eroding the asphalt as I pushed a mountain of grocery-store carts towards the store, up the slow incline of the parking lot. My stomach gurgled angrily. Money had been tight that Summer. I'd eaten two full containers of peanuts I'd gotten on a discount. It had seemed like a smart decision at the time. Hot honey-flavored bile rose in the back of my throat.
"No." I squeaked aloud. "No." It was all I could manage. The sliding door opened with a ding. The air conditioning chilled me to the bone, my body drenched in sweat. If I loosed my lunch I knew exactly who'd have to clean it up.
"Dagan, are you alright?" my boss asked as I rolled past.
"No."
At last, I wheeled the carts into the stockroom, and threw up into an empty trash bag. Success.