The man gently slammed the door. He closed it but not all the way. The woman took two steps closer. "Alright, I hearya darling, but you can't go around putting bullet holes in everything and," the door closed, "And not expect the rest of us to NOT WONDER if you might want to talk about something."
"Problem?"
"No, not really muttering."
"I DON'T have anyone for you."
"Really?!"
"Talk to me about the sheetrock."
"Like what about it? Like the difference between horse hair plaster and gypsum?"
"How much the project needs."
"Guess I can head back home then. Podunk's done with me."
"I don't have anyone for you since you exposed everyone's deepest psychological stress and desires."
"But I did not."
"But that's the word from Foggy Bottom."
"But it," deep breathing and suppressing an asthma attack, "It can't be. It just can NOT possibly be so."
The man got up from a big desk. "Seven newspapers on the West Coast say that you have done the very one thing YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO."
The woman collapsed.
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