In the 0400 darkness, there stood a gargantuan Hasbro style transformer and visible vapor wafting out of a small framed woman's nose. She was stomping one foot, then the other, with arms crossed snugly in front of her chest. “It's freezing out here," hardly needed to be said, yet she had to say it. Her formerly hot coffee was losing its own steam.
“I'm sorry, Cora," Brad had no idea what else he could say, “I know it's too early and too cold."
“It's not you, boss. I'm just getting too old to be outdoors," Cora was clutching the high fashion accessory de jour--the humble clipboard.
Brad smiled at that. “Try to stay young a bit longer, at least until Fashion Week is over. I am starting to hate this biannual bacchanal. All that money and so much angst in every corner. To what end? A big
