A couple of weeks ago my boyfriend won the Covey 5K. I was waiting by the finishline along with some old men, dogs, small children, the announcer, and three Seahawks Cheerleaders. As my boyfriend crossed the finishline, he looked at me and blew me a kiss. The announcer said, "Here's our first 5K finisher . . . and he blows a kiss to the Seagals!"
"What?!" I said, "No! Not the Seagals! Me! He blows a kiss at me!"
It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...