You slept through your alarm. 

 Your boss saw you walk in 45 minutes late. 

 Linda at the front desk told you your fly’s open.

 The coffee machine doesn’t work. 

 You lose three grand over lunch betting on the Knicks.

 You fall asleep at your desk and your boss wakes you up. 

 You say bye to Linda in a flirty voice as you clock out, but now Steve is at the front desk. 

It’s raining, you forgot an umbrella. 

 But in the car park, a badge gleams with a prancing horse.

A Stallion. 

A red beauty full of racing pedigree and heritage. 

 You start the engine of your Ferrari 812. 

 You make a left and take the scenic route.

 The clouds make way to a beaming sun. 

 You plant your foot and an Italian symphony serenades you all the way home.

 You couldn’t care less about Linda. 

Or your boss. 

Or Steve. 

 Only the road in front of you and the engine behind you.