The Brisk Stress

The whole sleepy subway trip in, I composed my resignation letter.

I work on the tenth story of a 14-story building, on 32nd street, Manhattan. The Empire State Building throws its shadow across us.

Today, the fire alarm lights (but does not ring) every five minutes. It goes off four times, flashing a bright, diode strobe, like quick, tiny bursts of lightning -- FRINK! FRINK! FRINK! FRINK! -- like a minuscule camera were taking my picture.

I wonder how hard it is to convincingly fake an epileptic seizure. And if I could do it, would they let me go home, or just prop me up in the shredder closet, biting my wallet?

There it goes again... I don't think the building is burning down. But I'm not sure.

Could be terrorists.

My fortune cookie reads, "How can you have a beautiful ending without making beautiful mistakes?" But it can't read anything else.

I couldn't open the clear-plastic wrapper on a box of "Tension Tamer" tea. I got very frustrated and attacted it with my teeth. I gave up and went with Lipton. Perhaps the caffeine will settle my headache, if not my nerves.

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