David Ferris descended upon his bacon and eggs in the restaurant of the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown San Francisco. What a beautiful city, he thought as he gazed at the view from the hotel’s eighteenth floor. I hope to hell I can get out of here soon.
His thoughts quickly turned to his nemesis Stewart Addison, whose overbearing attitude and stubbornness were the only things blocking his passage back to his home in Michigan. And his family. Not a bad guy, actually, Ferris thought. He’s doing his job just as I’m doing mine. Heck, we’d probably be friends if only he weren’t so damn stubborn.
The meal in front of him stole his attention back. The bacon was a little too crisp, he noted, and the eggs a little too hard for his liking. He’d try not to hold those things against his adversary today, he decided. Things were going badly enough without a less-than-perfect breakfast complicating matters. He smiled at the implication of his last thought. “Players Walk Because of Crisp Bacon,” the headlines would cry out. He’d never work again.
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