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Death of a Graphic, and a Graphic Death

At first, one would have had to strain to make out what was being said through the open office door. The murmuring got louder.

A female voice. “Too green! Aah! Undo! Undo it, quick!”

A male voice. “Oh, crap. I, uh, I think I can’t undo it.”

“What? Well, fix it! Replace that color with something else!”

“It doesn’t work that way. It wasn’t layered.”

“What— you said you could do this!”

“I-”

“I’m wasting my time with you. It looked so promising, and you messed it up! I don’t believe it.”

“You don’t have to pay me, I-”

“Oh, you think? Yeah, thanks for that, and thanks for nothing. Get out of here!”

“But-”

“Out!”

With a rustle of coat and papers, the man hurried out of the office, one sheet of paper fluttering out of his briefcase and onto the ground. “That’s the last time I do any work in front of the client,” thought Martin. “Now I’ll have one more mess to clean up,” and he set about planning her murder.

People really needed to think before they spoke. He’d made every effort to be nice to her.

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