By lunchtime on Monday, her finger hung over the keyboard like the blade of a guillotine. Her hand slowly lowered and her eyes closed on their own. She felt her finger make contact.

Well, I guess that’s it.

She’d done it. She’d filed the damn report that would take the farm away from Stetson the Shithead and Carmelita the Cind. Karmelita the Kind?

Hmmmm…that alliteration wasn’t exactly working out the way she’d wanted it to.

She waved the hazy thoughts away. Everything was in a haze, really. She tried to care about the world around her, but it was like peering through cloudy glass, covered in hard water deposits. It was there, but not.

Greg had been buzzing her office every 30 minutes since she’d shuffled through the front door that m...

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