It had been an odd day, anyway, punctuated by little moments of insincere panic and sincere larceny on the part of her co-workers, family and strangers. Her hormones were in a weird place and her auto's matic transmission was not communicating with the other bits and gears of the vehicle. The basic fundamentals of her paid task were splitting into harmonics of dischordia and paranoia. All in all, the sum was smellier than the hole of it's parts.

She wasn't supposed to be smoking on the job, but most of the crew did it anyway. They had little secret fans and smokeeaters and scented candles and flavoured candies to try to hide what they were doing with the weed, but whenever they came in to work after a long weekend, you could smell their shame like a toilet left unflushed during a vacation...

The soup was an accident. She hadn't any spare money to order lunch and she had forgotten to bring any from the hovel. One of her co-workers in the rabbit warren had ordered something slightly different from a downtown diner and been so incensed at receiving slightly the wrong thing that she had flung the offending container in the trash. Idita had no problem fishing anything out of the trash. That's how she got half her wardrobe and most of her office supplies. She was saving up for a motorcycle and she had to pinch every penny.