Wednesday night happy hour at Seviche consists of five dollar sangria and a selection of tapas. We sit at a table in the picture window, overlooking Penn Avenue. Our waiter is cute and bubbly and keeps the drinks coming. It has all the makings of a very happy hour indeed.

Brianna is bored with her job, the monotony of office life stealing little pieces of her soul. I have my own horrifying memories of various day job dungeons, and one of my greatest fears in life is that I’ll someday have to go back to the forty hour a week, florescent lit life. It is a thought that fills me with despair and I try not to dwell on it. I have some sangria instead, comforting myself with the fact that I spent most of my day in my pj’s, working on an erotic romance novella that I can’t seem to fin...

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