REPORTS! REPORTS! REPORTS! The word hurtled through Danny Umbkertolager's brain like a heat-seeking missile seeking heat. REPORTS! He clutched his own pile of them close to his chest as he cut himself a swath through downtown Los Angeles's meandering foot traffic. He was dressed in his Wednesday best. Which was admittedly everyday's best. He did not change clothes much. But it was hump day! We're gonna make it! Haha!! He was looking forward to Friday night, though.

He brushed past a younger-looking guy on his way up the US Bank Tower's exterior steps. Clearly he doesn't work here, Danny thought with a forceful exertion of mammoth superiority. Not with that trying-too-hard casual walk. And neither did she: this mousy, awkward woman who was not meant for the clothes she was failing to pull off. He saw another woman, this one focused on not destroying herself in those high heels. All these people pretending to be something they were not. It was a joke. A JOKE!!

He reflected on earlier this morning, three minutes ago, when he was at the bottom of the steps. He hadn't taken his reports out yet (from his briefcase, a dark brown Habbersmatherly) but he had rectified that image problem in the intervening moments. Have to do better next time. Each report had an amazing red END OF REPORT VOLUME punched onto the bottom of the page. He tipped this stack outward a little bit so passersby would notice and become awed with his standing. He knew the power of subtle human body language, and he suspected this vague impression worked on subconscious levels of the human brain.

REPORTS!

The guy's got reports! What can we say? faceless members of an admiring crowd would shrug, look at one another, and nod in Danny's direction as though approving a new concept car that no one would would drive, but everyone would imagine driving! Let him on through! they would announce!

Yes, that is how it would go. People needed to see what he was carrying first. He should have brought forth these piles of papers with their marvelous red ink BEFORE coming to the steps. WHAT WAS HE THINKING!!! And it was Wednesday. Plenty of time to get this show organized. Danny pressed his lips together until they morphed into a thick swirling lizard thing. Do better tomorrow, son. We'll be watching.

"Morning, Truman." Danny nodded metallically at a colleague and then failed to ignite any sort of conversation thereafter. That's fine. Plenty of time to discuss stocks and politics in the office. Rather, smirk at those discussing them. Who did that? Talked about politics like they mattered to anyone who wasn't playing the game? Not Danny Umbkertolager. He saw right through it. Truman did not reply to him, which was also fine because Truman was a duffer. A dark, slender Indian woman glided into his vision and he imagined how she might react if he could remove that perfectly divided skirt with the power of his mind... maybe she... if only he...

He entered the building and strutted past the main lobby's flat-faced, flat-footed, flat-chested security guard of inconsequential age who did not greet him. He did not greet her either because interfacing with the worker class was not done. Simply it was not done. But also because he had mashed his phone to his face, murmuring terse, urgent-sounding sentences for the benefit of the security guard and those moored in line for a building pass.

"A quarter rough on those figures, Jefferson," he uttered in an irritated growl, eyes on the ground. "Keep 'em on the upstrike, we gotta nail 'em back down, in-again in-again IN-AGAIN!!!" He allowed one arm to perform a cutting action that sliced through his point. Excellent. We got reports and we got phone calls, this is the way we do mornings!

He shared his elevator ride to the 34th floor with a young woman, a banker by day (probably), a partier by night (probably). Wonder if she would be down, Danny thought, scenes of unrealistic hedonism surging strangely through his brain and making the brisk ascent to Floor 34 a pleasing one. Would she be down? Down for what? Oh you know. A little craziness. Maybe on the regular? Friday night? Would she? WOULD SHE???? He didn't know, but he could imagine.

HE COULD IMAGINE.

He would have to think about talking to her the next time he saw her in the elevator! He would have a good line ready by then. You gotta have lines. Without lines, what have you got? Exactly.

These elevators' walls consisted of tall mirrors and Danny took the opportunity to give himself the Businessman's Appraisal. Man he looked trim. Trimmed that jib right to the edge. His reports put the star on an already glittering Christmas Tree. He exited the elevator, giving his future friend a good view of his papers, and made for the office, walking just so.

"Morning, Jan." Another metallic nod to the secretary. Correct. Danny wondered what she was like on the weekends. Here she was on Wednesday at 9 in the morning, playing this role. Secretary. Poor woman. The pleasant, professional greeting she gave him in return revealed the depths of her depression and how much she hated herself. Danny was good at reading people. He chuckled quietly, causing another passing colleague, James the aggravating king of quarter sales, to reluctantly admire the stack of reports that Danny still held. Uh huh.

Danny turned on his computer, an old Warrior that was getting on. While he waited, he stared at the blank screen, at his crisp, tailored reflection in the monitor's blankness. He thought nothing.