Sliced Bread 2: The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. Cruickshank paged me early this morning so I could pretend to be John Caruthers at an antiquarian bookstore. He was in a hurry, so I basically got out of bed and went there. The meeting took longer than I thought, so I went right on to the office.

The office was filled with mannequins. Yes. Greyghost had left me a note asking me to find the mannequin with the microchip in it, and courier it to Itzhak. So that took hours, and so did feeding the fish, since I had to move all the goddamn mannequins around to get at the tanks.

Then I had all my regular crap to do, and I was starting later than normal for a Thursday, so I put my head down and tried to burn right through it. But the computer crashed, and it screwed up my updates as it did so. I had to leave it like that for a while so I could go get Greyghost at the Hattin Gallery.

Next problem: the Hattin Gallery wasn't there. Moved to a new address three weeks ago. I couldn't find it for a half hour, and Greyghost's mood was kind of frosty by the time I arrived. He wanted me to drop him at his studio, but there was an accident on Rappaport so we were stuck in traffic for almost an hour.

The traffic jam gave me plenty of time to realize I should have sent only the microchip to Itzhak and not the whole mannequin.

Now I'm back in the office, I've fixed the computer and reloaded all the junked-up data, and I just realized that I have a splitting headache. I think I've had it for hours. And why do I have this headache? Because I haven't eaten or drunk anything all day. Not even a glass of water. And here's the scary thing: I didn't even notice. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me.