“Sean, darling,” Northcutt greets me, flopping down next to me on the vinyl sofa. He takes a look around the room, as if realizing where he is for the first time, and wrinkles his nose. “How can you stand it here?” And then he takes a good look at me, with scruff that’s definitely graduated to a full-on beard and my wrinkled clothes. “Never mind. I guess you fit.” I don’t answer him. There’s no point. “Anyway, you’re fired.” He cheerfully hands me a folder that I don’t bother to open. I know what it will be. The usual HR bullshit. A description of stock options and retirement funds held within
...more
What.the.fuck
