The rest of Ean’s workday passed without event, other than another encounter with Doom. Naturally, this ended with another cup of cold coffee tossed in E’s face while Doom complained legitimately that the replacement for his earlier triple latte was actually a bad cappuccino.
After he cleaned up again and returned to his office, Ean sighed.
So, he said, you’re just going to montage the rest of my work day?
If I weren’t so very incorporeal, I would’ve shrugged. The real question was: Did Ean really want to live through the rest of his work day in real time?
E sighed again. Not really, he admitted, staring at the coffee pot while the machine percolated. He grimaced. You know, he said, All I have are dregs, filters, and packets of Irish cream. They should be happy I can make anything with a French name.
I didn’t comment that ‘cappuccino’ was Italian, and Ean didn’t tell me to shut the hell up, and the rest of his workday went by as quickly as this this sentence.