"We're going to lose the house, aren't we?" The wife stares at me.

"Yes. Almost certainly." I hold my briefcase on my lap. Their daughter sits at their feet, cutting ducks out of Post-It notes. She is small, maybe six years old.

"Well, you can come up with thirty thousand dollars by Friday, I suppose," I think out loud. The wife is still staring at me.

"Mommy," the daughter demands. "Not now, Ali," her mother growls, without looking away.

"Of course, the mortgage approval is entirely at my discretion," I tell them. I don't know why I said that. I think the husband is drooling. I grab my suitcase and walk out the door. I'm halfway to my car when I hear footsteps behind me. The daughter stands bravely on the walk. She holds her ducks and scissors in her hands.

She walks up to me slowly and locks eyes with me. We stand there for several seconds staring at each other. "You asshole!" she shouts, kicking me in the shin. I mumble curses as I get to my door. "The FUCK is wrong with you," she shouts. She holds the scissors to the side of my car as I drive away, and I can just hear the money for the paint job falling out of my pocket. "Motherfucker!" she screams.



I get back to my office at four in the afternoon. My boss stands near the threshold, waiting to greet me. "Dan, great news! We're under new management."

"I don't understand how that's great news," I say. He looks at me like I'm insane.

"You don't understand much, do you?" he growls.

The girl, complete with scissors and ducks, walks into the room.

"The hell is she doing here?" I ask him.

"Shut up, bitch!" she demands. "I own you now, punk!" She spits in my eye. "I own all of this!"

I look out the window trying to gather my thoughts. A bird hits it.

"Pay attention, bitch!" she screams. "Make me an ice cream sandwich!"

"You'd better do it," my boss advises. "She doesn't seem to like you very much already. Besides, honestly, your performance as of late has been awful."

"We don't have any ice cream," I mutter. "Or those black wafer things. This is a bank."

"Shut up, Dan. I don't want problems, I want solutions," he shouts. "Take care of it. If she doesn't have an ice cream sandwich in half an hour, you're fired. I will not accept disappointment."



"Stupid child labor laws," I think to myself as I slide the key in the ignition. I slam on the gas and fly to the store. I wander around the aisles for at least fifteen minutes. "I don't think you can even buy those wafer things," I complain out loud. I decide chocolate chip cookies are close enough. I get some vanilla ice cream too and leave. "Shit," I think, looking at the clock. I have three minutes until she wants her sandwich. Still driving, I pull the ingredients from the bag and put them on my lap. "SHIT," I think, somehow louder than before. I don't have any utensils. I dig my fingers into the ice cream and throw its nearly liquified chunks onto two cookies and squish them together. I'm done. I smile. I feel my car lurch over the curb and my head smash into my steering wheel. I see the hood crumple before me.

I'm barely conscious as they wheel me into the ambulance, but I can still make out my boss screaming at me. "You stupid motherfucker," he shouts, "you crashed into my car!"



I have trouble opening my eyes, but I can make out white. A lot of white. I hear quiet sobbing beside me. I struggle to get them open and look. The little girl sits beside me, a pile of ducks at her feet, with her hands on her eyes, tears falling to the floor. I open my mouth to speak and she looks at me, tears still welling in her eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

She becomes enraged. "Who the fuck told you to speak, you douchebag?" She jumps onto my bed and grinds her shoe into my face. "You need to learn to respect authority, you motherfucker!"

She stops and looks at me, her eyes welling with tears. She collapses and weeps into my chest.



The first move that the new management made was to cancel all of the employees' health insurance plans. I wake up in a dumpster with a fourteen thousand dollar hospital bill lying on my chest.

I begin the long walk back to my business. I've been sleeping in the attic there lately; my pay just won't cover the rent checks anymore. My boss sits at his desk, staring solemnly ahead.

"Dan, this isn't a good time."

I look at him questioningly.

"It's Ali, Dan." He struggles to expel the words. "She...she took her own life."

I stare at him, speechless. He sobs into his arms.

---

Man, I wish this were a nodeshell rescue.