And here comes the little blue engine, going up the hill. Tremendous hill, by the way — many people are saying it's the biggest hill anyone has ever seen. And the engine? The engine is going to make it to the top. Believe me.

Let me be clear. The number seven combo — the kung pao chicken with fried rice — represents outstanding value at twelve ninety-nine. Now, some folks might go with the lo mein. And that is their right. But I believe, deeply and sincerely, in the kung pao chicken.

She sat there, perfectly still, her amber eyes fixed upon the glass at the edge of the table. The universe held its breath. One paw reached out — slowly, deliberately — and with the quiet certainty of gravity itself, the glass tumbled to the floor. She did not flinch. She never does.

Here, in the fluorescent-lit plains of the open-plan office, the junior analyst approaches the communal microwave. He guards his leftover pasta with quiet determination. A rival appears — Karen, from Accounting — and the tension becomes palpable. Only one may reheat at a time.