Stan got into the car, turned the key, and eased out of the Executive Car Park.
With one hand on the steering wheel, he pulled on his tie and eased the knot.
He sighed as he entered the motorway, it had been another long gruelling day and he resented the long commute home. The M6, normally congested on a Friday evening, was surprisingly clear.
The radio churned out the same stale news.
He passed under a bridge and gave a wry smile as he spied an inscription.
Apparently it was a reference to a legendary Liverpool band that barely existed. There used to be numerous other messages daubed on bridges in and out of the city.
He passed under it every workday and rarely gave it a second look.
There was another bridge, just before his turnoff, and from afar he saw there was a white sheet draped over the side. As he approached he saw something written in thick black letters.
‘<3 ARE IN THE OVEN, STAN <3’
Looking up, he just caught the frantic waves of his kids as he passed under the bridge, minutes from home and the start of the weekend.
For Sunday Photo Fiction this week I have decided, once again, to exclude violence or melancholic overtones! The prompt is © A Mixed Bag, 2014.