My Cardboard Balcony

Number Of The Beast by Belinda Roddie If you can't count to ten, count to seven instead, just to combat the demons inside of your head. They're all drinking espressos and reading their Kafka, while the old men are prone and still sleeping off vodka. So count up to seven, and hope for the moment the angels will show up and fight off the omens. They're smoking their stogies; "Sorry," they intone. "This is your game to play, kid - you're now on your own."

I know the work is tedious, but the job will do you good, I promise. It pays well, you'll have friendly colleagues, and management is top notch. Vacation time will allow you to do whatever you want, wherever you want. Take a trip to Hawaii in the summer if you want - the salary will pay for that. And the benefits - darling, for such a boring gig, you'll never have to worry about getting sick again. You can still write your stories. I promise.