Fitz rediscovers a lost spark.
Fitz lay crossways on the bed, arms extended upward with a magazine in his hands. Too tired to read, he flipped through pages of advertisements and looked at pictures of refugees. It had been a tough week. Shit, it had been a tough year, he thought. Fucking clients, fucking auditors, fucking pissant bureaucrats… At least having a couple of beers with friends tonight had relaxed him. Becca...Read On