Saturday.

"Where is Bill," Boss-man asks, breezing in through the back door and reaching for the phone.
"I just called him," I glance over my shoulder. He sets the phone back on the receiver and widens his eyes impatiently.
"And let me guess," he says sardonically, "he'll be here in--"
"--twelve minutes," I finish. The blue-eyed boy leaning on the counter shifts uncomfortably. I can feel Boss-man watching Blue-eyes from behind me.
"Hey, if you catch Bill smoking in the truck, let me know okay?"
"He does."
"Well he's not supposed to. Seriously. I could fire him." Blue-eyes nods non-concomitantly. I see a movement through the window in the dark van outside.
"He's here," I say softly. He comes inside. Boss-man smiles.
"Hey Bill, glad you made it. Blue-eyes is Lead today." Bill nods.
"Rough night?" Boss-man asks. Bill shakes his head, "Naw, I went to bed early."
"Must have slept well," I comment. He nods. Of course he slept well. Well enough to get to work half-an hour late. I shiver slightly wondering why the office is so cold.
Bill looks at the plate of brownies sitting on the counter, then asks to see today's jobs. He takes the packet. Him and Blue-eyes leave.
Boss-man and I sit in the quiet office.
Boss-man says something about Jezebel, the washing machine. Yes. Our washing machine is named Jezebel. She died last night. At least, I hope she's dead.
He comments on whether or not we should actually get a commercial washing machine or not. I hope we do. I hate Jezebel.
The office is cold and I am barely awake. Why did I volunteer myself to come in early. I counter my desire for sleep with the logic that perhaps one hour wouldn't have really made that much of a difference, and that I get to make money by being here. Yes, I feel that making money is a privilege.
The office is empty now.
Boss-man is gone.
The sky is slowly beginning to brighten from that early morning black to a faded grey.
Yes. This is Maple Valley. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes the sky is grey.
The office is cold.