I knew the country, and possibly the planet at large, was traveling on the zipline to hell in a large handbasket when I realized that my identity had been reduced to a piece of clothing. Before anyone begins speculating nastily about the article of attire to which I refer, I will end the suspense. It is a suit.
This all started when I wandered into the law firm lunch room. There was a rumor, circulated via email, that some coffee cake had materialized there and was innocently awaiting attack by hungry employees. The rumor was unsubstantiated. There was no cake. It had been savaged down to the crumbs. Fifteen minutes had elapsed since the email was sent, ample time to completely consume a rhinoceros, in this office.
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