It was the third week after Paul’s mom died by her own hand that the incident occurred. A real busy-body of an AA had stormed into his corner office-space demanding the heads of two of his MLAs for some screw-up that wouldn’t have occurred if the AA had stuck to procedure instead of letting himself get bullied by the customer, a rather self-important editor of Expanse politick feeds. Miscommunication occurred and a whole slew of wrong styles got sent out, resulting in a number of said editor’s feed archives being significantly different than what went out live; an embarrassing, though ultimately harmless mistake, as only the style of the feed was affected and not the content itself.
Paul blinked again. Geoff cocked his head to one side. A moment peeled itself like onion skin and passed.
“I think you’re going to have to work through lunch today, Paul.”
Zip. Zap. Zorbit. Neurons were in spasm directly behind Paul’s right eye. He started walking towards Floor 23’s portal. “I’m sorry Geoff,” he started to say as fast as he could, “But I really need to get to my desk. I’ve been late a lot recently, you know…”