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25 sep 2007

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 no-one else still at their desks, so I unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk and slipped out the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black I kept handy for such an occasion. Made a mental note that it’s about time to pick up a new bottle.

I slugged down the last gulp of cold coffee, did another quick look over my shoulder, and poured a finger into the coffee cup. Sniff, sip, and swallow – the familiar warmth in the throat and twinge in the back of the nose. Leaning back, I closed my eyes and stretched.

She’d snuck up while I was in a moment of reverie. “Woman, don’t you knock?” I asked.

Susan tossed her hair over her shoulder with a smile. “Don’t you know it’s against policy to have booze in this office?” She had her coat and keys in her hand and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder.

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