Minutes from now, he was expected to walk into the boardroom. His team would be there staring back at him; a staff of fourteen. Soon to be a staff of ten. This was not Kyle’s call. It was an executive cost-cutting measure aimed at preserving profit margins. Sweat glistened across his forehead. His normally manicured hair hung limp over his face. Kyle managed to part and smooth it out, but his greasy mop still looked a wreck under the bathroom’s flourescent lights. Kyle wondered how on earth he would do this, just stroll on in to the boardroom and lay off four coworkers, friends. The restroom door popped open, and Stan Little breezed in. The two men exchanged a curt nod before Stan stepped up to the john. “Yankees can’t seem to pull a win. I lost thirty bucks on that game.” Kyle shook his head. “That’s tough.” Stan zipped his fly and slapped the handle on the urinal. At the sink next to Kyle, he shrugged. “It’s only money; just have to make it up in commission.” Sweat traveled down Kyle’s upper lip, but Stan didn’t look over.
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