When life gives you rain...

the sky was the color of a fish's belly left out in the sun, white curlding to grey.  The rain kept crying like a driver pulled over for having one too many whiskies:  cheap and plentiful.  No one's going to pull me over for having too many cheap and plentiful whiskies, cause the only thing I'm driving today is a desk.  The sign on the door says C____ O______, but the name's Silas.  Help Desk technician.  Problem Solver.  I've got ten long fingers to hammer on keys to get the answers to the questions you have.  If that doesn't work, I have six bullets in the revolver in my desk drawer.  Those computers can get pretty singular, but once I let my hand dip into my pocket they dump their kernals and start singing like canaries.

He walked into my office.  Cornflower blue tie tumbling like spilt gin down his expensive shirt.  He came in for his laptop.  His other one had gone missing.  He didn't have any answers, and since he was the big shot lawyer in these parts, I didn't ask any questions.  The truth would stay buried in in must accounting ledges and dark lit airports.  I nodded to him, and pushed the laptop bag across the desk with one hand.  He nodded his thanks, turned and left.  No answers.  No questions.  No problem.

(hmm... there's more to come here, something about a femme fatale with a computer full of spyware, but that will have to wait for another time.  and a little more reading of Raymond Chandler)