Sunday afternoon
Jon put both hands to his face and tried to rub his weariness away. He stretched his legs under the table. A sour fug clung within the cubicle. He stared at the clock. "Only one interview in and I can hardly keep my thoughts in order."
Perstow placed a hand against his forehead, closing his eyes.
"Not you, too?" Jon asked, suddenly worried.
"I'm fine. Not much in the way o' sleep."
"Time for lunch," Jon announced.
A bright expression flushed across Perstow's face, as if Jon had offered him a raise in pay. "Sure!"