/ The Snitch

Rupert tried unsuccessfully to sit still in his high back leather executive chair. He’d been waiting for what seemed an eternity. His red rimmed eyes darted from the door to the clock on the wall and back in a nervous dance that had occupied him for the better part of the past thrity minutes. Two AM, where is he?

He was wired, riding a nerve freying high of caffeine and nicotine that forced upon him a painful and unwelcome alertness. His body cried for sleep, yet was denied that most precious of commodities. Strung out, with patience running low, he decided on another cigarette. It might help him, if not calm down, then at least to pass the time. Reaching for the pack on his desk he noted that he’d have to do somthing about the mountain of butts in his ashtray soon. He grabbed the pack. One left. With the deft hands of a seasoned pro he liberated the smoke and had it to his lips about as fast as his trembling hands would let him. What are you, afraid? No, it’s got to be all the coffee.

A knock at the door. Startled, he nearly lost control of his coffee laden bladder. He rested his cigarette on the edge of the table, letting out a soothing lungful of smoke. He opened the top drawer of his desk for a quick glance inside then, satisfied, closed it and stood to answer the door. As soon as he got to his feet, it was gravity that reminded him of his now urgent need to visit the mens room. He made his way to the door, cursing the two extra large coffee’s he’d had every step of the way.

Why can’t anything go right? He raged. As he reached for the doorknob, it suddenly dawned on him how incredibly stupid of him it was to be having this meeting at his own office! Should he ignore the knock? No, it was too late now. He opened the door, unaware of the pained look on his face. This wasn’t going well at all…


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