The Learners

When Tip is standing in the doorway as he is right now, it can only mean one thing. I brace myself. He shouts, eyes pleading:

"Milk!"

After two and a half months, I'm starting to get used to it. Very jarring at first, but now I'm practically a pro. I counter, with excellent timing:

"Paint!"

Aha. Got him. He wasn't ready for that.

"Paint?"

I raise my head from the potato chip coupon I've been laying out with blue pencil for the past ten minutes and arch my right eyebrow, which is all he needs. Sketchy ignores us, as always.

"Faaassssssssinating." It's like a gas leak from Tip's mouth and he darts back down to his office.

And I am reminded, grateful: This can be a pretty fun place to work.

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