Hang the plump, bright red strawberry on the edge of my parfait glass. That was the signal. To whom? I had no idea. I just knew I had to do it. Problem was I had forgotten how many.
One berry or two?
It shouldn’t be this hard. It was the only thing they gave me to do. But this city is distracting. Beautiful architecture, beautiful people, this beautiful croissant. It’s impossible to concentrate.
No wonder they keep me on a desk. And when I screw this up, I’ll be right back there. This time for good.
One berry or two?
The Weekday One Hundred 