with aggrieved violence while considering how
much of a hint of nipple was too much.
Taking a break from the pop star breasts - the left one was
proving especially problematic - she wandered
through the office to the mail tray. This was purely
an exercise in avoidance; she hadn't received a
paper message in months. The mail tray was merely
a nostalgic monument to a bygone era, kept alive
by the occasional arrival of junk advertising.
The paper flowed in a perfect cycle, printer to distributor
to mailbox to waste bin to recycling and then back
to paper, all without the need for a single human
being to ever read it. However, there was, to her
surprise, a real letter for her. In pen.
Slitting the flap with her long red polished, and only
partially bitten thumb, nail she took out the
short note.
"Sarah,
I have been where you are. I imagine you
believe that all is well, but you are deceiving
no one but yourself. Now is your chance to do
something while you still have a job and home.
The answer isn't AA or 12 Step. This man can
help. Take this card with you."
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