I was busy watching the clock when Muldoon poked his head in.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Watching the clock. Come on in.”
He walked into my office waving two tickets.
“College hoops, at the Garden. We might be able to make tip-off,” he said. “What time you got?”
The news shook the chairman of OSPEC to his very core. A secret meeting was called, convened in a secret bunker, at a secret location in the Swiss Alps.
It was in a sterile conference room below ground, with walls painted battleship gray. There were no windows, and no artwork. The only thing hanging was a small sign that read, Organization of Smartphone Exporting Companies.
The statement landed with a thud on the dinner table like, a too hot to handle bowl of mac and cheese. Bradley Ascot looked past his seven-year old daughter, and straight at his wife, Julie. Neither wanted to acknowledge what had been said, so little Madison decided it would be good idea to make her announcement again.
“I want to be a YouTube video reviewer when I grow up,” the child said, with a wide smile indicating the news was designed to please her parents.
The interview went well, until it began. That was when the subject of the resume came up. But first there was a question about the job itself.
“We’re a fast growing website. This is a big spot, the one we have open,” Chet Dinkleberry, said. “You think you can handle it?”
“News editor, right? I’ve got twenty years in newspapers, and ten more at leading media websites, of course I can handle it,” Murphy said.
A couple of blocks south of Times Square there’s a street corner that has become something of a de facto campground for a few of the homeless.
There’s really nothing all that unique about the corner, but it does have a stretch of subway grates that provide some heat. And there’s one of the free wi-fi and charging stations the city put in place awhile back when it started getting rid of pay phones.