Nolan kicked back in his chair. “Let’s see. If Lina’s the kettle, that would make you the pot.” “I don’t have time for your nonsensical bullshit this afternoon.” “Just to be clear you’re the pot calling the kettle black in that metaphor,” he said. “I don’t have a personal bias,” I lied. Nolan began a dramatic search of his desk drawers. “What are you looking for?” I asked. He paused, then grinned. “A fire extinguisher to put out your pants fire.” “I thought you’d gotten less annoying since you shaved your mustache. I was wrong.”
