I’m struggling to focus - minimizing another handful of nonsense websites and pulling back up the statements I ‘m supposed to be editing. My computer’s glow is a window of white in the increasingly dark 25th floor. Shut up and get it done, I tell myself, drawing a deep breath and straightening up in the rolling chair. There’s no manacle on my leg, no bars on the doors, but this office has always had a way of making me feel captive all the same. Rows of empty desks and bouncing screensavers sit beneath the ticking clock, whose longest hand waves in leisurely, torturous circles. A few rows over, the scrape of Jenna’s chair against the carpet breaks the still air.
“You want a drink?” she says over her shoulder, headed toward the break room. Her green jacket stops just above her waistline a