“You…look like hell.” Despite the vulgarity the statement was said with all due affection, one corporate slave to another.
Garrison looked up the series of motivational pictures printed in grainy quality to the top of his cubical wall, “Oh good, cause I was trying to hid my inappropriately giddy disposition.”
Ivan gave him a critical, “It’s really hard to tell if you’re being sarcastic.”
“If I’m talking, it’s a fair bet.”
“You wanna talk now or after I get you drunk at lunch?”
A faint smile cracking, Garrison answered, “I am not getting drunk at lunch with you…ever…again. Not much to say. Broke up with Janine is all.”
“Janine? How did you screw that up?! She was a model and a gymnast for crying out loud!”
“I dumped her actually,” Garrison shrugged.
“Are you mental!?” came the exasperated question with a resounding smack of a forehead.
“Did she do somethin really, really bad?”
“Nope. I just realized she wasn’t my type.”
“She…was…perfect. How could she not be your…oh, my.”