The Last Day

Good Afternoon Stockholders.

It is New Year's Eve, 2007. The Wall Street Office is empty. Everyone has taken the day off. And everyone who doesn't work on Wall Street seems to be roaming this particular neighborhood. You know of whom I speak. Tourists. With their new winter wear, their pocket travel guides, their mini fold-up subway maps. Worst of all, they seem to be completely oblivious of their fellow creatures who actually have to work down here and navigate the human traffic jams. Their necks are craned, the weave in and out, holding hands, slipping into side streets, crowding up the coffee spots. Ugh.

Even my superior didn't show up today. Which means, technically, that I could slip out of here early without repercussion. The life of a Temptress often comes to these odd moments, when you feel like you might be the only one alive. When you feel that your temping duties go unnoticed by a single soul. When the phone hasn't rung more than 7 times in as many hours.

A moment ago, I pawed around in the pantry fridge for something to entertain me, namely a large bottle of Pinot Grigio, but it seems they have confiscated all naughty beverages. Shoot. It's just as well. I have a hard enough time staying awake on the train lately. A few nips from a bottle of wine might just send me carreening to Coney Island for a surprise nap and subsequent mugging.