The ride to work felt longer than usual.
Damn it, I thought as I slouched deeper into the leather seat of my BMW with my eyes half-lidded behind my sunglasses while Thomas, my ever-faithful and cheerful driver, hummed along to the old jazz playlist that was softly pouring from the stereo. Some Duke Ellington, maybe Coltrane.
Normally, this would’ve lifted my mood. I’d even snap my fingers, mimic a trumpet solo with my mouth or tap an invisible drumstick against the door just to keep the energy up because of course, I loved Jazz.
But today? Jazz couldn’t cut it. Not even that of Miles Davis.
I tried dancing a bit though which was more like wiggling my shoulders and tapping my foot while hoping movement would shake the sluggish fog out of my head.
But it didn’t work. Damn it again, I
