The Writer Gets Her Spirits Lifted

“That’s certainly a tall tale,” Emma whistled when I was done.

I sniffed, holding back a few tears. “Y-you could say that.”

“Oh, AIDS , don’t tell me you’re crying over this one feathered dodo!” Emma exclaimed into the phone, and I refused vigorously.

“Of course I’m not!” I said, dabbing fiercely at my eyes.

“Yeah, that’s why I can hear the tissue box all the way to Manhattan Island,” Emma said, her voice sarcastic.

“Very funny, Ems. You know that I’m not good with people,” I sniffed again and drew my knees to my chest.

Emma sighed. “I know you’re not good with people. That’s why Emma the reporter is here to save the day!”

I laughed lightly. “No one can keep in dark spirits around you, Ems. It’s impossible.”

“Well, I don’t see it working on my boss,” Emma grumbled, and some papers rustled over at her end.

This time I laughed out loud. “He’s not very agreeable, is he?”

“No, and he’s got a name that fits: Mr. Condor. I go to briefings every day with a media – carrion eater.”

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