Kevin ambles through reception holding a box under one arm. With his receding hairline and oversized suit, he resembles a turtle. He bobs his head at the lady behind the desk reading a magazine on ghosts. She buzzes him through the main door without looking up.
He’s met upstairs by office manager Paul, with an unkempt beard and wild hair. He has a handshake like a boa constrictor and Kevin flexes his fingers behind his back afterwards.
“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour”, Paul booms, and turns into a kitchen half the size of a postage stamp. “What’s your poison?”
“Black coffee, one sugar please”, Kevin says.
Paul flicks the kettle on, banging his elbow twice in the process, and grabs a mug from the cupboard.
Kevin puts the box down and rummages around for his own mug, banging his elbow twice. He pushes his kid’s drawings to one side and retrieves it, then places it next to Paul’s.
That’s when they see it.
‘World’s Greatest Dad’.
They both stare at the identical mugs, before slowly making eye contact. Paul gestures for Kevin to follow him, and they make their way outside to the fire assembly point.
In the car park, Kevin loosens his tie, pulls up his shirt sleeves and begins to hiss. Paul kicks off his shoes and rhythmically slaps his prodigious gut, before throwing his head back and howling at the sky. Their eyes narrow, and they slowly circle one another. There can only be one.