“You’re here, Mr. Jones, because a woman in a red dress told you to be here. Because she cried in your office and then offered you a lot of money and sweet sorrowful lies. The same reason you do everything.”
Sometimes, normally on Thursdays, I think that if I could read minds I wouldn’t even notice.
Thursday night wasn’t the ideal drinking day, but my week and been especially shit so I had no love left for my job or what the bosses thought of my red eyes and dirty shirts, or if they did notice that I had been in same clothes for the last three days.