Kyle looked at Arthur—really looked at him—and saw the face of a man who hadn't slept since the fiscal year ended. He leaned in close. "Look, we’re out of the retail packs. But the manager keeps a 'damaged' box in the loading bay. Usually, it's just the outer plastic that’s ripped. Follow me."
He drove home in a trance, burst through his front door, and bypassed his sleeping wife to reach his home office. He didn't trust the printer anymore. He sat down with a fine-tipped black pen. He would hand-write them if he had to. buy w2 forms
Arthur fumbled for his wallet, handed over a twenty, and clutched the forms to his chest as if they were original Da Vinci sketches. He ran to his car, the cool night air hitting his face. Kyle looked at Arthur—really looked at him—and saw
