Fabula Rasa: Story No.1

It was a dark and rainy day. My beige-walled cubicle was clammy with recycled air pumping in from the ventilation duct overhead. Despite torrents of rain falling on the other side of the window pane, ever-increasing humidity emitting from the air conditioning unit, and no less than three beverage varieties sitting on my desk in anticipatory hydration, my mouth was drier than the most pretentious of martinis. Bone dry.

I kept slorking water from the soggy waxed paper cup left over from this morning's dash through the gas station near the freeway exit for a breakfast of sugar and caffeinated concessions. No amount of liquid would satiate my thirst.

If swishing a half-shot of vermouth around, dentist's office style, and spitting it out into my tiny office-issue trash can without smelling like happy hour had been a viable option, I would have done it. Between the Superantioxidance Vitanutritorganic Smoothie, the Big Gulp filled with water, and the lukewarm coffee leftover from the morning, all I was getting was an aggressively energetic need to walk down the hall to the restrooms every hour, parched no less.