You hail a cab, which, thankfully, comes almost immediately. You point the cabbie towards the office and lean back, relieved.

It’s only when you get there and pull out your wallet that you remember—sort of—the late-night pizza order. Oh my god, why did you give that kid a $20 tip? Who cares if he likes photography, you needed that money.

You have no cash, and this cab doesn’t take cards. There’s an ATM at the end of the block, but just as you’re about to step out of the cab, you see your boss exiting a town car about ten yards in front of you, leaning into the window to continue his conversation with someone inside; if you go to the ATM he’ll see you, and probably expect to talk to you. You look down at your stained, wrinkled pants as you check your breath against your palm. It smells like metabolized vodka and unbrushed pizza-mouth.

And it’s nearly 11 o’clock already.

Oh yeah. That conversation probably shouldn’t happen.

 

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If you want to run in the opposite direction, pulling a cab-and-ditch, buy your copy of CYOM: TOA today!

If you want to just sit in the cab a minute and hope your boss goes away, buy your copy of CYOM: TOA today!