It's Sunday. Here's the problem with Sundays: you've got a client somewhere you had never heard of before you started your project. Somewhere in the middle of the country. In a flyover state. In a town about a hundred miles from the closest airport. A town without a decent hotel, a decent restaurant, a decent bar. It takes six hours to travel to that town. And you have to be at work before your client shows up on Monday morning - not because there's something you absolutely need to do, but because it has to look as if you did. Hence your Sunday ends in the early afternoon, when all your friends are in the park. Or at brunch. Or maybe still in bed. And if you have been in this game for a while, probably they aren't really your friends anymore anyway.
I am a consultant. I've just arrived at my client's location and checked into a room that looks like Foreman's basement in That '70s Show. Smoked mirrors, fake mahogany and a carpet so thick I'm sure it's alive. The weekend is definitely over.
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