Accidents happen

It was a Friday, and I was wrapping things up in the office, pulling a few more documents to check over, writing my initials a few more times, and dodging two of the clerks who were working in tandem trying to tag me with a dog case. The phone rang and I hesitated, not really anxious to open another can of worms, but there was still thirty minutes to kill, and there was always the chance it was a personal call. I had no plans for the evening, and was hoping that would accidentally fix itself. Accidents happen.

Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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