It was just after five when he gave out.
“All right, do it.” he muttered, draining the last of the
whisky he had drunk all night as we argued.
“You sure?” said his suck up, sorry, ‘assistant’, who
clearly wasn’t convinced.
“We need to cut the budget by a tenth or the government doesn’t
get the bailout, and this is the only way we’ll manage it without voter revolt.
Do it!”
I nodded and began to shift the numbers, making it seem like
we were firing people.
And actually doing so as well, but I didn’t bother telling
him that.
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