“That’s enough, Susan,” sighed Mr. Trigson, irritably massaging his temples. “That’s enough. Just go home.”
Her endless nights in the office, her countless number of skipped meals, her two months worth of cancelled nail salon appointments – it all resulted in missing the most important deadline in her company’s history. Susan tragically stared at the broken dreams meticulously laid out by the unfinished Microsoft Excel spreadsheet. She only needed a little bit more push. A little bit more drive. A little bit more coffee.
And in a matter of seconds, the pinstripes on her Armani business jacket trapped her into a prison.
“I can’t do this shit anymore.”
She hurled off the jacket. She cracked her knuckles. She let her hair down. She slipped her work into the outgoing box while coaxing herself out of slipping into the incoming tears.
“I’ve got to eat something.”
Susan trudged out of the office and dragged herself into the McDonald’s next door. She planned to reverse her sorrows with a Big Mac combo.
Extra onions. Please.
Suddenly her misery had evaporated into the aroma of dead cattle and a plethora of salt. The melted cheese was her melted stress. Her medium Coke was her new drug. She was lovin’ it.
But just as she felt nothing could get any worse, it happened. Someone had broken her combo.
P.S. This is TJ Combo from Killer Instinct, not Balrog.