The dance of death
Sometimes in the hallways there is an awkward moment when two people want to take the same path. They'll shift left as I shift right. I'll shift right as they shift left. Then we stop and smile and say, "Pleasure dancing with you," or something equally banal as one of us nods the other past.

Today I did that same dance with a squirrel. Only I was a giant hurtling along at speeds of up to 45 mph and the poor squirrel was pissing his squirrel pants in fear. It was not a pleasure dancing with the squirrel. I hope the squirrel is now dancing with all the lady squirrels in squirrel heaven. Sorry, squirrel.