Chapter six.

Monday mornings were the worst. I woke up with bird nest hair and rushing to work would break me. Today, like for the past two weeks, I didn't worry about what shoes I'd put on. My shoe rack was filled with lots of shoes and I couldn't even get a space to hang some. All thanks to Mr. Honduras.

I got to the office in twenty minutes and Mr. Honduras, as usual, was seated in his chair, waiting for my arrival. I gave Margaret a wide grin and dashed into Mr. Honduras' office. His face was paler than usual and he didn't reply to my greeting.

"Coffee, Mr. Honduras?"

"Yes. Black as always."

I hurried down to the coffee machine and filled up the cup with a thick, black latte. Mr. Honduras slipped once that he loved my coffee and how I made them. Till now, I didn't know how good my coffee was because I made them as good as I could. A black liquid and a spoonful of sugar. I carried the mug and the saucer down to his table.

"Your coffee." I placed it on the table and turned away to print