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She stared at the door now, probably wondering when he would come back. But I knew he wasn’t coming back. Probably by this time he was in some apartment fucking some other woman, some cheap tramp he picked up and leaving his beautiful, sad woman, all alone. I sipped the rest of my drink (seltzer with lime) and walked over to her. ‘Excuse me, Miss?’ No answer, just a stare and the rather obvious attempt to become invisible by not acknowledging me. So I let her sit in silence and walked out the bar. I walked over to the cab that I should have been driving now but I was no mood to drive tonight. My mother had died a few hours earlier and I did not want to drown my sorrows but I did drown in my sorrows. So I went to my favorite watering hole, drank my seltzer and lime (been sober for five years), while I observed the living, prayed for the dead and wonder which ones were better off. As I started the cab, there was a knock on the window. It was my beautiful, sad princess, so I rolled. The scar bespoke a hard childhood for the man. He was so unlike the many employees around him who knew not the meaning of hard work. He had earned his place in command, had made himself irreplacible, and thus, had secured himself in his position as managing chief, known as the Archangel of Death, because he was the lowest-ranking executive, and often was the one to oversee the enactment of decress "from above." "How long's it been since you had a vacation?" Six months." Victor replied. "And it was the whole two weeks, and I'm not due to get any more until the new fiscal year." True enough, Vic, but..." Mr. Andersen paused. "We're having a bit of a turnover problem right now, and I'm not talking pastries." I know, sir, that's why you need me here." No, that's why I need you to not burn yourself out, Vic." Mr. Andersen replied emphatically. "You're one of precisely four employees we have left with any loyalty in them. The rest of these kids are just working here long enough to get some.
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