Hungover Impeding Ferret-Related Apocalypse

Sunshine flooded in the room.

“Turn that off, it’s too early,” I said.

“Sorry, it’s ten a.m.” my secretary said.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m in your office. You slept on the desk.”

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

“You got evicted. The only reason you still have this office is that somehow the landlord thinks we were renting the empty space next door, and thus that we already left.”

“Nice. Glad I’m still paying you,” I said.

“You haven’t been. I submitted my two weeks’ notice two weeks ago,” she replied.

“Why didn’t I see that?”

“When did you last read anything in your inbox?”

“I have an inbox?”

“You haven’t had a case in weeks, Jim,” she said, “and I’m sick of bartending nights.”

“You’ve been bartending somewhere and didn’t offer me a discount!?” I was about to get indignant when a man walked in. “What are you doing in my bedroom?” I asked, still lying on my desk.

He ignored my witty remark. “Aliens are threatening to destroy Earth if they can’t speak to my ferret. And I’ve lost him.”

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