So I leave you now with the only piece of writing that still exists from this decent enough session (for "Ghosts of Retail" if I've let you look at that) and will curse my overtired brain for not actually thinking enough to save when I had my four or five chances. Sure, I'll rewrite it sooner or later, but it'll never be as good as the stuff I put down today, however fleetingly.
Man, I hate wasted effort, especially when I'm the one who wasted it.
The elderly custodian reached down and picked up a small china saucer from the floor. The saucer was slightly warped with age, its finish cracked and flaking in a series of fine spiderweb cracks all over the dish, and the original white color had yellowed in the heat a long time ago. Originally its only deformity was that of an unreparable chip around the edge, and Carl, being an honest yet frugal gentleman, had purchased the saucer from the Seconds department years ago for the sole purpose of using it here in the basement. Now he reached into an inner pocket in his overalls, pulled out a slim metal flask, and carefully poured its contents into the saucer, making sure not to spill a single drop. He wet his finger on the tip of the flask, tasted just the slightest bit of the rum, and then with trembling hand set the saucer back on the ground in front of the rumbling furnace. It made no attempt to thank him, but Carl knew his job had been
