I keep telling myself to stop staring at him. There’s a crew getting Jimmy an office ready at the apex of our three larger ones. It’s nothing more than an entranceway, a tiny seating area that we use as a place to stop on neutral ground before splitting into our own separate offices. Up until an hour ago, it held a small bench-styled couch, two guest chairs, a credenza with various awards and framed photos, and a Ficus Benjamina of enormous reach. The poor plant now sits in my office, to the left of my desk, and I’m more than sure it’s already beginning to sag from the lack of natural lighting. I plan to move it to the south of the room, beside the window, once the space is unoccupied. Now, though, that area is the very-temporary workstation of my new assistant.
He is hunched over a circu
