Delivery

J___ picked at his food, then looked up and grimaced at the gray skies and fog blanketing the hills visible through the restaurant window. Ugly, he thought, quickly adding it was all too fitting a day to die. Funereal was the appropriate word, and described his mood.

No goals reached in this miserable place. Not one. The higher-ups will be on him to come back, but he already knew he would never return. It wouldn't matter to him if the fate of the world depended on it, his answer would be forever 'No'.

Besides, J___ just couldn't understand why installing 'packages' here would stave off the crisis envisioned by HQ. What earthly (or unearthly) effect could they possible have, strong enough to save the day? Too isolated and introverted - a social 'black hole'.

J___ smiled at the irony of that analogy, then shifted attention away from the grim view and back to his food, slightly less grim. If only he had a bottle of 'La Fin Du Monde' to make the food - and the view, more palatable.

All God's (or the Devil's) delivery boys need to eat ...