บท 891: A New Year

"So," Jamie sat down behind his desk. His swivel chair, washed and flattened through years of sitting and swiveling emitted a harsh stifled squeak. "Rudy outside was saying you're looking for some work here?" 

Up above, the ceiling fan wobbled about as it spun around, creaking every half second, one blade crooked at an angle and another forcibly stuck back in place by a hefty layering of the strongest tape one of the maintenance guys a couple of months back had at the time. 

For a better part of the year, He told himself more times than there were days in said year that he oughta get around to replacing that fan. He never got around to it though. 

Every now and then though, it'd make a louder screech than usual, wasting costly few seconds as his gaze flew, distracted, wondering if today was the day, like every other day, that he'd finally be decapitated for his negligence.