Chapter 1: The Misaligned Walk
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She pulled a cold fry from the paper basket, dragged it through a smear of ketchup on the liner, and popped it in her mouth.
Across the Formica table, he was leaning on his forearms, watching her.
“And then he comes over to my desk,” she said, dropping her voice into a thin, nasal squeak: “‘We really need to optimize the quarterly deliverables before the deck goes to legal.’”
He snorted into his coffee mug, catching a spill with a folded paper napkin.
The waitress came by, tilting a glass pot with an orange plastic handle. He didn’t say anything; he…
The skinny
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