Eric sat in his reclining chair, enjoying a hot chocolate. His programs were backed up; his financial statements were printed out in triplicate. The arrogance was palpable.
He took another sip and watched the frivolity unfold on his television. Fools, he thought. To go to Times Square on New Year’s Eve, you’d have to be insane. Especially when the world was ending.
Hyperbole, but a new century was approaching and civilization as he knew it would be changed irreparably. And this time he wasn’t exaggerating.
It was going to be chaos. They’d see.
And Eric was going to enjoy it.
The Weekday One Hundred 