Just a little something I cooked up for my obligatory contribution at the Nudge Wink Report. The boss is gonna be pissed when she sees I stepped outside the standard format and scribbled some fiction. She’ll get over it, especially if she ever expects to see what happens in Chapter 2.
Oma and I sat in the employee lounge at the offices of NWR staring at each other. Calling the cramped space a “lounge” was our boss-lady BD’s half-hearted attempt to try to create some sort of esprit de corps – it’s a small room off the hall with a missing door and no exterior windows. The only thing on the wall is a yellowed calendar from an insurance agency that went out of business three years ago. The seating options consist of two upholstered chairs and a flea-bitten loveseat. An upside down milk crate topped with a ring-stained piece of plywood serves as the coffee table. The seating appeared suddenly one Tuesday, smelling faintly of old lady and cat. As a team of relatively intelligent field reporters, no one needed to point out that the arrival of the beat-up furniture coincided with trash day.
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