I was hoping for a warm reception at home. Outside of the ninety plus humidity and beer that was half cold, I guess I wasn't far off the mark.
I came into the office, which was more like home since I didn't really collect my thoughts alone anywhere else. With mail in my hands, sorting through the bullshit, I flicked the radio on. A nonstandard envelope was the third piece down. Usually these things are from old flames. More like a wildfires.
It had no return address on the enveloped, which was beige. I was really expecting something from one of my other resources since they use similar envelopes, until I realized whose handwriting I was looking at.
Rick,
I'm sorry it's been a long time since we've talked, but you know I still care. I'd like to talk sometime but I can understand if you don't want to see me again.
I pursed my lips as I put a nicely polished shoe dent on the side my desk.
You can meet me over at Noir- Le'blanc on Wednesdays at noon sharp.
Tazmanian Tiger
Fuck.
Tatige, haven't heard from that Tazamanian Tiger in some time. What the holy hell. I didn't think twice about this kind of shit, nor did I like to, since I generally stick to the stance that I'm at from the beginning. The only time you need to shift your stance is when the Earth changes its own. I mumbled quietly opening the first, or third beer of the night. It didn't matter to me, since no real business through this door would actually happen at this point.
Did I even leave the open sign out?
It didn't matter to me walk-in business would happen anyway. Everyone knows that only desperate women, double-agents, and double or even triple-agent women only come without calling or mailing first.
The last thing I remember before passing out was Holy Thursday still playing on the radio even though it was a Tuesday.
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