Palpable . . .

That's how I'd best describe the tension in this room. Nobody is sure who all is being retained and who is out. The office has become mystery dinner theater. I'm figuring that those who are the most quiet are the ones who'll be here in February. Those who didn't show up and those who can be heard are the ones that were told of budget constraints and a change in direction.

I'm one of the quiet ones.

Saturday I got word via text that Kirby is out.

Kirby has been the one thing that makes my day go a little faster. We carry on in conversations over the partition wall about what was Roy Schneider's best role (I say Sorcerer. He says Blue Thunder). We tilt our monitors towards one another to show whatever photo drew a laugh. He keeps a cheat sheet of rates and figures taped across his walls that I constantly reference in my day. The man has never thrown anything away, and can pull up any document you could ever recall. This world is just him and me. If he is not the word of God God never spoke.

The following is a short script I'd written, always intending to give him a copy wrapped around a bottle of brandy. I never had the gall to show it to him. Or to tell tell him that he's given me a gift by sharing in the monotony of the work day for the past five years. That I don't know how I can do the work without him. And that he's inspired me in his own unusual way.