Rusty Kerfuffle stood on a plastic tarp in an elegant downtown office. The tarp had been spread over fine woolen carpet, the walls were papered in soothing monochrome linen, and the desk in front of Rusty was gleaming hardwood. There was a paperweight on the desk. The paperweight was a crystal globe with a purple flower inside it. In the sunlight from the window, the crystal sparkled and the flower glowed. Rusty desired that paperweight with a love like starvation, but the man sitting behind the desk wouldn't give it to him.
The man sitting behind the desk wore an expensive suit and a tense expression; next to him, an aide vomited into a bucket. «Sir,» the aide said, raising his head from the bucket long enough to gasp out a comment. «Sir, I think this is going to be a public-relations disaster.»
«Shut up,» said the man behind the desk, and the aide resumed vomiting. «You. Do you understand what I'm asking for?»
«Sure,» Rusty said, trying not to stare at the paperweight. He knew how smooth and heavy it would feel in his hands; he yearned to caress it. It contained light and life in a precious sphere: a little world.