It's two in the afternoon at work on a Friday.
I skipped lunch because I didn't bring one. But I finally remember that I had eaten only half my lunch yesterday and left the rest in the lunchroom fridge. I take my half a cheese sandwich and some fries to the picnic table in the parking lot, next to the fence with the razor wire on top. It's sunny and a lovely 73 degrees out (Fahrenheit). It's the last day of February. I love California. I leave the umbrella on the picnic table closed and let my back soak in the warmth. The sandwich is cold, and the fries are soft. I learned long ago how to eat for fuel and not for pleasure. I finish everything and then go back to my desk. It didn't taste great, but my happy stomach is lasting longer than the lunch break. The email comes in: "Give us five bullets." I'm all out of ammo, so I shoot back with the next best thing — sarcasm. I reconsider my response and instead use AI to generate an official-sounding one. I laugh and hit send. Maybe some of this happened. Maybe none of this happened. It's a writing blog. Plausible deniability, it's called. The thermostat in the office is set at 70 degrees. I'm wearing a fleece hoodie. I get back to work. I love California.