Elliot slumped on the couch as he scrolled on his computer through the job site’s list of openings that “matched” his search. A hundred hits, with only a few that met his qualifications—hell, matched his field—but he saved each remotely possible one. It did nothing to improve his mood. He pulled the blanket on his lap a little higher, trying to delay the cold from setting in. He’d lowered the thermostat to fifty-five, the lowest his landlord recommended to avoid bursting the pipes, and the apartment was miserable, but it was better than the alternative of not being able to pay the bills.
He switched windows on the computer, to where a message from Tom—his lone friend from back home—waited.
Tom: How’s the job treating you? My office scheduled what feels like a holiday party every week now
