“Congressman Henderson?”  The intern stood in the doorway to his office, one hand on the light switch and the other carrying a sheaf of papers bound in a manila folder, looking like she had walked into an orgy by mistake.

“Don’t touch that light,” Miles growled as he sat up on the couch, elbows on his knees, and running both hands vigorously through his hair.  All around the couch on the floor were empty bottles of liquor and a couple of tumblers—one lay in shards in the corner—and the smell that greeted the hapless intern caused her nose to wrinkle.

“Are you alright?”

Miles turned his head to look up at her.  The look of concern on her face was genuine, but forced, and it was obvious she wanted to be anywhere but where she was at...

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