Loss and Recovery

Dear Sirs, the skies have turned an inky black like the hearts of my benifactors. I am out of provisions in addition to being at the complete mercy of the elements. The river hates me. Crossing it would be cooperating with a death angel. Crawling things investigate the remainder of my canteen. Cicadas rub their wings neurotically to create a pitch of unintended mesmerism. Gaze upon them as they work and all you will register is a blur. It is a small wonder that they do not catch fire. Should I experiment with the local greenery? There must be a leaf that quells fever. All business partners have divested from our joint venture. Now my most esteemed backers are numbered in the fleet of departing life rafts. Companions that once blessed my name have shielded themselves from my sorted exploits. I am not a boy scout, so I don't know if it is customary to raise two or three digits. Just know that I will survive the cruelty of noonday sun along with primed legal assassins that will no doubt be dispatched upon my arrival. By this time you probably have voided our contract through some moral clause. It is no matter. I will find my way to the boardroom sooner than imagined. Unfeeling shareholders have poured into their brandy glasses prematurely. Your head accountant has filed for disability. He has fallen ill by an unknown source. That reminds me of a small payroll item. The doorman has not shown since Monday. Perhaps he rolled the dice on that graphic designer job. Let us only think good thoughts toward him. Not ones that require dental records in the hands of a forensic team. The cafeteria fire is a good reminder to switch out gas stoves for electrical ones. Modernity gets her kicks from ambition as well as tragedy. I have a sneaky feeling that we will come to generous terms.