The smell of burnt molasses rose from the aging breakroom coffee pot to permeate the slender windowless space, giving it at least in order the feeling of the holidays. Steve leaned back into the leather desk chair, the weight of the day drawing his eyes down he found an odd comfort in the subtle hum of the old halogen bulbs that lit the space.
He tried to imagine the weather outside, the way the street looked in the winter with wreaths hung from lampposts and the light from storefronts glinted off the dusting of snow that typically covered Granville in the winter.
“The last one.” He reminded himself with a sigh as he looked back down at the laptop in front of him, the cursor blinked just past the last citation in the report. For his clients it was just another analysis of the latest market trends. Silently he saved out the file, attacked it to templated email he used for quarter and sent it off to meet its destiny. As near as he understood this was either the trash or junk folder.
Steve didn’t care, this had been the last part of the business he handled anymore and he enjoyed it. In the twenty-five years he had set up shop as a Financial Advisor he had written reports on every single trend he could imagine. The housing boom, the tech boom, the defense manufacturing boom, and of course all of their subsequent collapses. He could have been bitter, jaded even.
Instead he looked over his reading glasses to the phone on the desk with a smile. The message was from his grandson, clearly texting on behalf of his wife who wanted him to get something from the store, was still up on the screen.
He snickered taking his coat from the back of the chair with the sort of slow measured movements he learned were necessary nearing your eighties. In equal reserve he flipped the lights out on the side office he had commandeered for the day and made his way down the hall passing the large corner office he had turned over to his son years prior.
Beyond the heavy Kennedy desk, he could see heavy snow flutter past the window, sparkling like diamonds in the pale streetlight.
“The kids will love that.” He said to no one as he locked up and made his way out into the cold, his work done.
Author’s Note: Well thats one day down in terms of writing daily, now lets see if I can start getting these done a little earlier.
The Flask/Pen 