I’ve been Ray’s secretary for five years, and let me tell ya, there’s not a worse job on the planet. Sometimes I don’t type anything legible at all, I just like to watch my cherry red nails click-clack on the typewriter. But, I’m done with that. Today the place went up in flames. They say Ray pulled the nightly scotch out of his drawer around noon, rough day I guess. As he passed out, drunk as a skunk, his cigarette met the fallen bottle of booze. Weird thing is, Ray doesn’t even smoke. Before sauntering away from the ruins, I take a drag and flick the ash of my cigarette onto the ground.