Lately, quite a few of my days have started the exact same way (including today!). I put on my interview pants and my interview shirt. I walk out the front door and around the back of the house towards my car. Black portfolio in my left hand, black purse slung over my right shoulder. The heels of my black, ill-fitting, 2001-issue Steve Maddens click and clack atop the slate stones that lead me through the backyard. “Here we go again,” I think. Every time I do this, I’m briefly reminded of The Green Mile.
Maybe I’ll get this job, and then I won’t have to walk the mile anymore.