Staring at the clock on the wall, revealed that his day was almost over and the trip home would soon begin. Wadding the doodled paper up, he stepped b...ck and in pro form, laid a jumpshot into the trash can. "nuttin but net," he said quietly with a smug look on his face. He gathered up his briefcase and blazer and headed out the door. The office was already starting to empty out as men and women in power suits chatted briefly about their plans for the weekend and how many would be back on. “So, the position you’ve applied for requires someone proactive, someone who can figure out what has to be taken care of without a lot of direction or instruction,” I say. “Is that something you’re comfortable with?” You reply, talking about previous jobs, assignments you took on and the like but I barely process your response, my thoughts focused on the neckline of your blouse and the cleavage it reveals. “I see,” I respond, not having caught much of what you said. “Sounds like you’re. A reporter will just keep putting out the dirt until they have to be investigated. I’m not saying we give everything to the reporter now. I’m saying we prime them. Just give them enough to make them believe it’s happening, and then let them dig on their own for a while. If the feds look like they are going to balk, then we pass everything off to the reporter. If not, then the guy reports what he can find on his own and gets a little bit of a head start, while the Feds still get everything we. .Another flash of memory.My mother, weeping at the kitchen sink, was holding a sheaf of medical papers in her hand. She stared at the papers as if they were a palpable enemy that she could rend, tear, or kill. Her tears were hard and angry – but soft, and almost helpless. Hindsight cleared up so much, and I now know the anguish she felt as the sterile, white forms pronounced her death sentence.For millennia I lingered in the valley of death. There were no shadows in that valley, only blackness,.