James’ large frightened eyes traveled slowly around the room. The creatures, some sitting on chairs, others reclining on a sofa, were all watching him intently.

“So you’ll never believe who I saw yesterday,” said one of the things, long-necked as a giraffe and pale as a frog’s belly. She thrust her head forward when she spoke and flipped a lock of rancid hair over a misshapen ear.

“Who?” said the thing whose eyes were shielded by two scratched pieces of glass supported by a wire between his waxy ears and draped across his flobby nose.

“Diane Wenkle,” said the giraffe-creature.

“Diane? Who used to be in payables?” interjected a sweating grotesque with beaver teeth. There were bald spots on his head where hair had migrated to his ears and nose, fascinating and repelling James.

“James, you’re very quiet,” said the cold, oily fish he’d been dating since September. “Are you feeling okay? You remember Diane, don’t you?”

James wanted to puke on her and the rest of the hideous lot. He couldn’t take much more.