65
One year before the Community
Sara stepped into the chilly, dark office from the pouring rain and immediately wished she hadn’t come.
That morning when Zach left the apartment he’d been in a good mood, all things considered, but that seemed to have evaporated along with the customers and funding. He was blasting classic rock, which he knew she hated—so basic and masculine, universally admired by people who did not think about it enough—and singing along obnoxiously, and from the looks of the place he’d barely started packing.
She stepped around a pile of extension cords and took off her dripping raincoat—old enough now that it didn’t really keep her dry—and approached him cautiously. “No one else showed up today?”
Zach paused in the middle of a poorly choreographed air guitar solo
