Red Agenda

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I hate keeping tabs on the bastards, he thought. Crooked fuckers, all of them. You would think corruption wouldn’t exist when you can pay everyone in your own country a salary. The task at hand always made George furious. Regardless, he pushed forward, as that was his temperament. He reflected that glamour was never written in the job description, but sifting through garbage seemed more like it should be a scene in a movie instead of an occupational requirement. The fact that it was taking place in the middle of his kitchen was repulsive to him. What George loved was order.

A glance at the calendar was followed by his thankful exhale. Three more months and his Florida retirement would be at hand. Life in Kuwait over the years had made him weary. At first, the assignment had been exciting and adventurous, but then the years had dragged on. George had plummeted into Kuwait life too quickly and too deep in the palace government to afford such luxuries as time away. He was always working. He had always been working. This thought often made him smirk when it came to figuring out how much paid time off he was owed. He hadn’t even a clue as to his federal pay grade anymore.

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