reduced and recycled

The usual warning signs were present but I ignored them. It was an innocuous invite, so I decided to give in; it’s been some time since I’ve had anything to drink, and I was grateful for that. A mistake made in that cauldron of alcohol and I was brought down to earth - but that was months ago, before the furore died down with recent announcements. I weighed my options: drink with boss or do work. It wasn’t so difficult a decision to make.

And it was fine. A quiet evening that progressed steadily. As usual, I found the conversation revolving around politics and work (in that order), and the usefulness of upgrading your computer system. Kay was quiet as usual, because he didn’t know what to say; I’d say he’s not much of a conversationalist, but that would be mean. I’ll just say he doesn’t talk too much. After our fourth pint of Carlsberg, Mackie appeared out of nowhere, with a friend in tow.

A friend, I should say, who’s also a client. I hated drinks with clients, because I’ve always viewed the practice of ‘having drinks’ something that’s usually done with friends. Not clients. But half-an-hour into our beers, I was laughing without pause. She had to be one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. A tad bit older than I was - not that you’d notice - and not hot in obvious ways, but dear God, she had wit and personality.

Which isn’t compensation, I’m not saying that; it was pure gold.

She called the day after, and we bitched and laughed over Mackie’s lack of tolerance for vodka, and I wondered where it was all going. I felt the thrill of excitement and dread, a volatile mixture.