Page 4

She then absently glanced at the red “digital” analog clock on the top right side of her desktop- a perk with Windows Vista Ultimate- and realized it was already four past nine at night.
He did say ten at latest…
The music playing now, blurrily, was “I’ll never let you go.” That was the most she remembered about it, aside from the fact she hadn’t heard it in a long time. It seemed mister closed-door had a playlist of all her favorites. If he had some Beatles, they could be in business.
But at that moment, she had the burning need to “make water.” That term always made her crack a smile.
She paused momentarily- it could have just been in her mind, the pausing- when she saw a post-it on the door she had supposed the music had been emanating from. It said “please vacuum” and something else, but she didn’t bother to stop long enough to make it out. It was at this moment she realized the music, not so muffled now, was coming from her Devlan’s speakers.
(O, Devlan a mio- decided man of mine)
No wonder.

As she came back that ridiculously long stretch of 
(highway)
hallway between their offices and the bathroom, she heard the unmistakable chorus of Fastball’s, The Road.
No, it’s The Way. That’s the name of the song. As in “they wanted the highway, they’re happier there today.”
As she sat down and resumed her work, that song gave way to something by Nickleback or Creed… one she once knew the words to and still loved. Something about “my intentions poor.” She liked the guitar pieces in it.
She noticed an IM from him, flashing on the bottom of her screen.

shoden (9:12:41 PM): I'm almost done

She’d asked him once what Shoden meant. He’d told her it was just something that came to him, something that sounded right.
She responded in green font with a neutral “ok.”

Page 5

She figured she’d better get to saving and copy a few things to her thumb drive and quickly. It was already half past
(what happens when the clock strikes ten before it’s got to)
nine, and she couldn’t wait to get home to the “kids.” Get out of the turquoise-pink-blue striped Ralph Lauren shirt that had sadly lost a button and now had dark circles under each armpit. Get home and collapse in her green papasan chair and maybe get a show in before bed. Hopefully not alone. Not tonight.

shoden (9:29:33 PM): We may have to work late tomorrow too
shoden (9:29:41 PM): Although I'm < 5minutes away from being done here
SolyJ (9:30:44 PM): fine
shoden (9:30:51 PM): I'm actually ready to go
shoden (9:30:52 PM): are you?

Her brow furrowed at the dissonant tones of System of a Down’s (sons of a dick) Aerials came on. 

SolyJ (9:31:15 PM): yeah, let’s skidaddle.

Soly locked her computer and gathered her things- designer jacket, fuzzy scarf, purse, laptop, briefcase. She tossed her scarf, dubbed “Snuffelupagus” by Dev, around her neck and stumbled around her office chair to get to the door. She flicked off the light and stood there perfectly still for a moment, staring into the dim. This was one of her habits Dev had also thought of a name for- The Dummy Check. A place for everything and everything in its place. All aboard that’s coming aboard, the Soly train is leaving the station. So long stuffy office.

Solveig Anna Christine Jenkins was the only person she knew with four names, and the only one she’d ever heard of with a silent g. Well, Gorje and German didn’t count, because those times, the g was pronounced as an h. With a name like Solveig, she was bound to get mispronunciations like “soul-vig” and sometimes “soul-vaigh,” and once “saul-veege.” She got sick of correcting sometimes, “it’s Soul-vay.”