It’s Wednesday, so it’s coffee four times, maybe a fifth cup after dinner with a splash of Grand Marnier to sweeten it up a little.  

It’s Wednesday and going into the office is a lot like playing a marathon game of Whack-A-Mole, the phones ringing incessantly, everyone in crisis and nobody to turn to for help.

It’s Wednesday and there’s a threat of snow in the air: the same threat that’s been in the air since Monday, so that now everyone’s just holding their breath; everyone seems simultaneously mystified and dismayed to find themselves mired in mid-autumn. Everyone tries to remember the sunshine, but no one has any clear recollection except four beautiful women huddled around a computer at the bookstore café, planning a cruise and already savoring the margaritas.

It’s Wednesday, but it might as well be Saturday or Monday as far as it matters to him.

Yesterday was a good day, laid back but productive. There was, however, no way to predict when such an event might happen again. 

Tomorrow might be a brand new day, bright and shiny, but he doubted it; suspected, in fact, that tomorrow, too, would be just another Wednesday.

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