We’ve (where “we” is a bunch of St. Mary’s folks) started a small software business and our office space is in a skyscraper-ish building in some unspecified city. We’re doing OK but like all small software businesses, it’s a little hit-or-miss some months. On this particular event, we’re embroiled in a head-to-head shouting match with some neighbors next door (a large government contractor type). We’ve urged them to lock their doors at night because we noticed they hadn’t been. Rather than take the suggestion though, their district manager (it’s a local office, see) keeps asking us what we were doing over there and how did we know that the doors were unlocked. I keep trying to explain to him that it was just serendipitous but he won’t listen. Eventually it gets to be too much and we just leave for our regularly scheduled barbeque — where Ben T. and Kenneth M. have been dancing pretty much all afternoon and A. keeps trying to get me to eat these Bourbon-soaked hot dogs two at a time.