You sit at your desk, wondering for the hundredth time how you could
have done this to yourself. You told yourself you could handle it. You
could quit any time you wanted. Coffee has no hold over you, right?
Right? So how come your face is smooshed against your case report?
Way to go, champ.
You firmly wrap each of your hands around the edge of your desk and
force your body into a more work-like posture. So far so good, but now
it seems as though your eyes have closed. With a deep breath and a
barely audible groan, you force them open.
And the first thing you see is a very tall heavily tattooed man
stealing a stack of papers from your desk. You force your legs to
propel you after him, feeling at your hip for your gun, and glancing
down at the badge in your left breast pocket.
Summoning your best cop voice, you open your mouth to freeze him in his
tracks. And you stop, realizing he doesn't quite seem to be fleeing. In
fact, he looks like he knows exactly where he's going. You follow him
into the interrogation room and watch him take a seat. As he settles
his pilfered papers on the desk, you realize they are the confession
forms with the mimeographed lines. Looks like he took the whole stack.
He holds out his hand expectantly.