Today he was in a hurry. John called him about a client who asked for the ice cream cones to be delivered five days early. If they did that, he would pay add 30% more than the original price. Mark refused to move a finger to make those 450,000 ice cream cones come to life earlier before he saw the edited contract. Once he looked it over on his phone, he called several people, shouted a little bit at each one, and made them feel some inexplicable guilt because they hadn’t telepathically realized that the deal had been changed five minutes ago. Now they would work, even if it meant making the cones with their own fingers, but they knew that would result in squished ice cream cones—maybe art pieces someday but worth even less than regular, machine-made ice cream cones today.
Mark would spend thirty more minutes in traffic before his day formally began. To help it get there, he drove through the drive-through (?) of Costa Coffee for a large cappuccino. Actually, he was about to ask to have it topped with cinnamon, but he forgot his preferences when he saw the face of the drive through worker. He did regain his memories and thoughts a little while later and soberly realized that the worker was a friend from his high school years. Mark tried to strike up a friendly conversation, but the guy didn’t notice and kept on looking at his hands as they tidied and cleaned.
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