Derick was thinking about
coffee
. He had already drunk three. In the past drinking three, four cups made him excited. Information allured him. Replying to
email
s felt like a
video game
. He could be doing the most
boring
thing, and it'd enthrall him.
The other day his
barista
told him coffee no longer worked on her. She'd drink like four cups by noon and still feel tired. This was not his situation. And he didn't know who had it worse. For him the coffee certainly worked. Perhaps a little too much. Because anything beyond the 2nd cup would not improve his experience. Instead of that laser focus, he would find it hard to think. His work would become more difficult. In fact, simply existing would become more difficult. So why did he drink so much of it still?
He spun in his ergonomic office chair. Realized that he wasn't thinking about coffee at all. He was thinking about his life. When he first got this job at the Gazette he was elated. Nothing in the world mattered more than him doing a good job. They gave him an office next to the giant glass wall, with a view out to the city. And unlimited coffee. He thought he had it made.
That is until he found himself drinking too much coffee for no reason. Wondering how long he would stay at the Gazette. He heard the sounds of heels striking the floor. He could already tell who it was based on the sound. He quickly checked his hair, made sure there was nothing in his nose, eyes, or teeth, and then straightened out his posture. Pretended to be deep into his work.
"So? That's out of our geography,. Plus everyone knows that people fall and die at the Grand Canyon quite regularly."
"Guess where the man is from?"
"Oh...." Derick took the piece of paper from Patricia, who still printed out articles onto paper. He liked that about her. He hoped that she would let him keep the sheet so he could touch it and smell it.
"You see. He's from here."
"Ah."
"And there's rumor of foul play."
"Hm?"
"And you won't guess who was at the scene at the same time."