Fiction
by Davin Ireland
by Davin Ireland“Second on the left.”
The receptionist emphasized the final word with a glimpse of dental brace that lent her the air of an insecure teenager. “Make yourself comfortable, your case manager will be along shortly.”
Joshua Canfield returned the smile as best he could, and made his way down a dimly-lit corridor hung with a line of conventional prints by unfamiliar artists. If the prints were intended to alleviate the building’s pervading atmosphere of dullness, they were a poor choice. The poor choices continued. Josh’s nostrils shrivelled in protest at the acrid bite of cheap disinfectant and ageing potpourri. Dust motes winked in and out of existence beneath the glare of a stuttering fluorescent bar. Just what you’d expect from a pop-up business w
