Interlude Before the Work at Hand

“What do you do for work again?”

I’ve always hated it when my dates ask this.

“I work for the State department.”

The dumb ones don’t realize that’s the federal government, which is why I like the dumb ones.

Among other reasons.

As she starts blathering on about Sec. Clinton like they’re old sorority pals I pick up the first guy, his thoughts staying on me for a bit too long. He knows the other guy is by the coat check stand. That suit knows the third man is outside in a tweaked Ford POS. They’ve all been contacted by phone, no names or faces to go with the directives.

The agency can get so testy if you take a little detour while on assignment.

I do things on my timetable, not theirs. That being said, they weren’t likely to let me have a proper time with the lovely lady in the meantime. Briefly considering fatal medical mishaps for the lot of them, but thinking better of it, I slipped out the back and on to my appointed task while they all inexplicably pondered the meaning of ‘Numb er Nine Dream’.

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