“So, when it snows we don’t come to work, right?”

Stan gave me a quizzical look. “No,” he said slowly. “We still come to work.”

“Oh,” I said and offered a strangled, fake laugh. “I know. I was just joking.”

He frowned.

Fuck! What was I thinking?! How could I ask such a stupid question?! This was New York City! Of course people went to work when it snowed. It wasn’t like Los Angeles where a light sprinkling of rain would shut down the city and you would break your dinner plans. Continue reading Beware of the Wordsmith. Part Four. →