His head ached as if on fire; he picked himself up from the field and
tried to get his bearings. Max was lost and he really didn't know what
he was in for; that last shift really did something, and he felt off. As
if he was looking through eyes of a body that wasn't his.
He
straightened out his tie and dusted off the debris that clung to his
dinner jacket. It was early summer and the sun was drifting off across
the sky.
Not too far from where he landed he noticed a party
invitation. He picked it up and read it and then glanced at his Rolex
and shook his head.
I'm late.
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