I mean, what else could go wrong? I spend the day in biocontainment, and I’m probably infected with bubonic plague, I’m probably in trouble back on the job, Pedro and Juan know where I am, Max, my bud, fires me, then a CIA guy threatens my life for no reason… well, he may have had an imagined reason—and then my true love takes a powder, and I’m picturing her with her legs wrapped around bozo boy. Plus, Tom and Judy, who liked me, are dead. And it was only nine P.M.
