936 Bitter Lingerings

Irene was up next on the chopping block. 

I dread to even think if her Tuesday had been anything like mine— y'know, just one giant snowball rolling down from the absolute peak of Mount Misery.

Like, maybe she burnt her toast for breakfast, slogged through the busiest rush hour of the week only to then clock in and be met with a pile of papers on her desk the first hour on active duty. In the midst of all the tedium, she gets assigned a case—one so mind-numbingly monotonous that I can't even think of an example of such a thing, which in turn, keeps her occupied all day long with no gaps for leisure, not even a second for a breather.