The phone rang again, and Brad quickly passed the caller off to voice mail. It had rung a few times since Liz had walked in, but he hadn’t felt like sparing the mental attention. Thankfully, and somewhat predictably, this particular job didn’t take much thought.

“You keep jumping to the defensive,” Liz said. “I’m here to figure out the rest of my life. You’re the one who sees something wrong with that.”

“Well, duh,” Brad said. “Of course I do. An afternoon at the office just isn’t the right time for sorting out one’s entire future course. It’s more a time for stealing pens and Post-it notes, maybe making a tasteful photocopy of one’s butt. Assuming one has a butt that could safely be supported by the glass surface of the photocopier. Which, it is possible, I admit, I do not.”

“Life’s over quickly,” Liz said. “I should know. I remember most of the previous times I was alive. So I know that you don’t put off the big decisions. Maybe you skip the small stuff. Like deciding whether to shave your legs. But you don’t put off the big decisions. Like getting married. Or having kids. Or getting surgery. What if your leg falls off because you waited? You’d be pretty stupid then, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, stupid, and hopping about on one leg, too,” Brad said. “You couldn’t even kick yourself for making such a lousy decision. I mean, not unless you were incredibly athletic on that one leg.

“You could probably get on TV for that, y’know, variety shows. Or maybe make some money on the street corner. Sort of a ‘watch me kick myself in the head even though I only have one leg, and chuck some cash into this hat while you’re at it’ kind of thing.

“But you’d need a partner, because otherwise, some ne’er-do-well could run up and steal the hat with the money, seeing as you can’t hop but so fast. No matter how athletic you are. In a footrace, the dude hopping on one foot is generally going to lose, unless the other guy has no legs at all. In which case, calling it a ‘footrace’ would be a bit misleading. Or maybe it’d actually be more accurate than the term normally was, since it’d be a race and only a single foot would be involved? Huh. Hard one to call.”

“If you only have one leg, you shouldn’t run,” Liz said. “You should do something sensible. Maybe ride a unicycle.”

Brad briefly considered arguing, and then decided she was probably right. Somehow.

“I think we’ve come up with a really groovy life for our one-legged man,” Brad said. “I’m proud of him. He’s turning into a really fascinating, odds-defying person. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing he lost that leg. Which’d sorta weaken your whole argument about big decisions.

“I mean, the guy is downright inspirational at this point. He could probably get a lucrative side business going, doing, like, motivational speaking. Who isn’t gonna be motivated by a one-legged man who can kick himself in the head and ride a unicycle? Sign me up, man. I mean, to be inspired, not one-legged on a unicycle. I’m not a unicycle sorta guy. Or bicycle, for that matter.”

“I used to ride my bike everywhere when I was a kid,” Liz said. “It was freedom. Even better than when I got a car, because I didn’t have to make insurance payments, or lose my title and have some cop feel me up in the back of his cruiser to get out of the ticket, and then he wrote me the ticket anyway. I liked my bike much better. It was pink, and had a bell, and there were flowers all over it.”

“Painted, or real?” Brad asked. He was betting she meant a floral paint scheme, but she was just crazy enough that he wouldn’t have put it past her to have decorated her ride with a bunch of fake or dried flowers hot-glued all over the thing.

“Paint, stupid,” Liz said. Brad was disappointed. “But I did have a little Strawberry Shortcake doll that I attached to the handlebar with a twist-tie from a bread bag. She was either my mascot, or my hood ornament, depending on how you looked at it.”

“Or maybe your fruit voodoo totem,” Brad said. “Did you ever stick pins in her or wish disease upon your enemies?”

“She was a Strawberry Shortcake doll, stupid. Of course I didn’t stick pins in her,” Liz said. “And when I wished bad things would happen to people I hated, it didn’t have anything to do with her. She was all about hugs, and smiles, and maybe baked goods.”

“I used to sorta borrow my sister’s old dolls sometimes,” Brad said. “Usually so I could get some army guys together to play pillaging the village. Guess I watched too many gritty, exploitative war movies or something. I was a sick little puppy.”

“I’m sure you were just demonstrating your true nature,” Liz said. “Childhood is like alcohol. It reduces inhibitions. Shows how people really are. The government should probably follow children around with video cameras, and get rid of the ones that do terrible things like you did. Then we’d only end up with good people as adults.”

“You sure do look on the bright side of things,” Brad said. “Childhood happy-time eugenics program. Weird thing is, you call me sick.”

“I’m just being sensible,” Liz said. “You must be one of those people who romanticizes children.”

“What, you hate kids? Not gonna start a brood of your own?”

“I didn’t say that,” Liz said. “I like children. I’m just realistic about them. Most people put them on pedestals, don’t realize that they’re actually evil, nasty, brutish little creatures.”

“So, you think they suck, but you want some anyhow?” Brad asked.

“Everything is nasty and dark and evil once you twist away the surface,” Liz said. “Kids are no different. So just because I know how nasty they can be, that doesn’t mean I don’t want some of my own.

“Plus, if you have your own, you get them while they’re babies. And babies are pretty much the only things that aren’t twisted and dark and malevolent. They’re just noisy and sweet. And a little messy. Have to be burped.”

“So, now that you’re talking kids, does that mean maybe I’ve turned some kind of corner? Maybe you’re reconsidering our future lives of eternal domestic bliss?”

“I didn’t say you’d turned any corners,” Liz said. “We’re just talking. Like we used to, before I felt sorry for you because you were falling-down drunk at work, and you took advantage of me.”

“I wasn’t drunk, or high, or anything,” Brad said. “Just had some weird déjà vu.”

“Right. I’m not that gullible, whatever you might think,” Liz said. “But it doesn’t matter. I felt sorry for you, and you took advantage of the situation. So we’re not exactly off to the best start, if we were to make something of our lives. Like, together.”

“Well, uhm, here’s the thing. I really like you,” Brad said. “And it’s driving me sorta crazy having this weird roller-coaster rebound deal going on here. I mean, I woke up this morning on top of the world, only I didn’t know the top of the world had this sheer drop, or that you’d push me off it.”

“How very melodramatic,” Liz said. “If anyone’s pushing, it’s you.”

Brad itched, in a very personal way. He wondered if this was some sort of commentary on the part of his nervous system, and he attempted to come up with a way to scratch it. Wishing to be subtle, he settled on slowly rocking his body backward and forward on his chair. He was pretty sure he’d pulled it off with absolute stealth.

“Why are you humping the chair?” Liz asked.

“I’m, uh … was I?” Brad said. He felt his face grow red yet again, and the shame just seemed to intensify the burning itch enveloping his testicles like briefs woven from cat hair.

He was also getting an erection. After all, why not? When God decided to make you the butt of one of His jokes, He seldom held back.

Brad contorted, intent on hiding his turgid state. He continued to itch, and naked, imaginary, tiny Liz was back, doing her whorish best to torture him with her gyrating presence.

“Yes, you were,” Liz said. “And now you sort of look like you’re having a fit, only you’re having it really slowly. Or slow for a fit, anyhow.”

“Great,” Brad said. “It’s just an all-around awesome day, then. Couldn’t be better. Guess the only redeeming feature is that it’s Friday. So tomorrow I can huddle in a corner somewhere and sob for a while, which’d be nice. Maybe I could huddle in the corner at your apartment? If you’re gonna blubber, it’s nice to blubber with someone else around. Otherwise, it’s that whole tree in a forest thing. What’s the point?”

“What makes you think I’d let you back in my apartment? Ever?” Liz asked.

“My youthful good looks?” Brad asked. “Plus, maybe we’re falling in love? In which case we sorta owe it to the cosmos, don’t we?”

“For someone who nearly raped me, and then didn’t want to take responsibility for his actions, you’ve made a big jump to love there,” Liz said. “But I’m tired of arguing, so, whatever. You can come over.

“Also, Faye said she wanted to talk to you. I guess I should have told you earlier. It sounded important.”

“What could be so important?” Brad asked. “It’s a Friday.”

Faye looked like someone who had eaten something awful. Working for the City, this was a look Brad was familiar with. He used it often himself.

“Hey, uh, Faye,” Brad said. “Liz said you wanted to see me. But I’m still on the phones. So mostly, I guess, I hope they don’t ring?”

This was, after all, virgin territory. When abandoning your post due to a higher calling, what was the proper procedure?

“I’ve already taken care of it,” Faye said.

That seemed ominous. Fights over phone duty were legendary for their passive-aggressive intensity. For Faye to have triggered one for him seemed like far more trouble than he should be worth.

In fact, Brad went to a lot of time and trouble simply to ensure that he was never, ever, worth that kind of trouble. The Civil Service was like the lineup at the Bunny Ranch: The only reason to stand out was if you wanted to get nailed.

Brad began to glisten. He’d been sweaty all day, but standing up and coming under scrutiny both contributed to a prolific output of perspiration.

“How do you think your time here at the office has gone?” Faye asked.

It was a good gut shot. Brad couldn’t help it – he recoiled just a bit, as if she’d slapped him, or perhaps thrown a stapler at his belly.

“I’m, uh, I’ve really appreciated the chance to work here,” Brad said. “It’s a great place, and I’ve learned a lot. Plus the people, too. I mean, the people, they’re great. Great people. You know, friendly. Lots of neat people. I’ve really enjoyed myself. It’s great. Really neat. Great, neat people. Place, too. And, uhm … Is that what you mean?”

It was going great.

“I mean that there have been some issues with your work performance,” Faye said. “With assigned work not being turned in on a timely basis. With assigned work going missing. Or some work being done only partially, or not at all.”

“Man, when you put it that way, it all sounds so awful,” Brad said.

Faye didn’t smile.

Brad backtracked. “That is, I guess, I could see where I have some faults, uh, ma’am. Faye. Faye, ma’am. I think I have problems with organization. Maybe I need to organize myself better. Then I could keep better track of my assignments, make sure that I’m giving them all their proper attention, you know, in the proper order, and in the proper time, and stuff. So things don’t end up late. Or go missing. Or get messed up some other way. I’ve never been very organized, but I think I could be more organized than I am now, maybe, if I really tried, you know?”