It’s possible, I contemplate glaring at my boss before my door. He rattles his demands, crassly. One vocal pleasantry for years … Good morning, Kayrene — although my name is Karen. Abhorrence manifests my recurring daydream. This ingredient affects his reconstruct. Invisible laser slices and dices him into cubes. The trap door beneath his feet collects all his bad pieces. He’s rebuilt within seconds to my perception. Mr. Henderson stands before my door whole once again. He recites his programmed greeting. This glitch is allowed.
I respond, “Good morning, Mr. Henderson … #5.”
If at first if you don’t succeed, try, try again.