He sprinted from the house and slid into his overpriced European sports car.
He had lost track of time. Again. His six-year-old was left waiting outside her school in arctic temperatures. Again.
He peeled out of the driveway and sped through his charming, gated community cursing his luck.
Three alarms set. None of them worked. Worst part, he wasn’t even sleeping. He was on his laptop, up to his eyeballs in quarterly budgets and yearly forecasts.
The sports car skidded to a stop. The front of the school was empty, not a soul in sight.
He was losing custody.
Again.
The Weekday One Hundred 