The wind hit the windows hard, rattling them with a fury borne of a thousand miles of fetch across the cold waters of the North Atlantic. Cold, grey waves crashed into the rocks below the hut, trying to tear the cliff down before it was razed by glaciers at the beginning of the next ice…

On the cheap plastic wall clock, the big hand was pointing to 12, and the little hand was pointing to 6. Once again, five o’clock had come and gone, and I was still sitting at my desk working up numbers for yet another data call. A quick prairie-dog over the top of the cubicle showed…