Gay

Just three minutes to go. Henry’s computer time confirmed the hopeful news the office clock had already told him. He put his coffee cup to his lips—his “blowjob lips”, as Patrick often joked—and sank the final grainy dregs. He dared to stare at his computer once more, seeing little more than a vague collection of numbers and graphs that began to blur as they always did at this time in the afternoon. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, letting his half-closed eyes drift over the office partition. The words “suck it up” had been etched into the corner of his cubicle; his little reminder that the bores of an analyst were usually worth the pay. Usually. “Gearing up for the weekend, Clark?” Henry almost fell off his seat as Mr Gordon’s thunderous …

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