“Is there such a thing as the Tuesdays?” Jim, who always wore his red shirt on Tuesdays, mocked.
“If there is, I think George has them bad.”
George smirked as he ran copies and double-checked the collation like Fred had demanded.
Claire sat down. “Not hungry today, George?” she frowned.
George shrugged. He’d barely touched his tortellini.
“You seem so down today, George. Did something happen at work?” Ann asked.
“No, dear. Nothing in particular.”
George regretted more than anything taking drugs with a time traveler.
And he’d only been warned about bad trips … not about boring ones.