It was eight in the evening when Tristan finally got home. He parked his car, but didn’t get out right away. He sat there listlessly, a few apartments down from his own, taking a second to get his head together. He’d been hitting the streets all week, going from business to business downtown, but these people were so highly solicited, he could barely manage to get the janitor to talk to him. In the mornings, when it was too early to catch anyone in management, he’d sit in his car and make countless cold calls, trying to fill his potential sales funnel. He ate in his car. It felt as though he was living in it, too.
But he’d made his stupid sales quota this week and turned all his contracts over to Clive. There. One week down, eleven more to go.
It was Friday, he was beat, and looking forw
