tick tock tick tock

The clock tiks rhythamicly inside of the cold office. Price's pen tapping rapidly against the side of his hat. At the side of his mouth hung a cigar. And a glass of whiskey on the messy desk. Infront of him was a stack of paperwork, all screaming at him to be filled out. Why the fuck hasn't everything gone digital? Its the XXI century god-damn it. Why is he stuck filling mindless paperwork?

The captain day dreamed momentarily about pretty much throwing the papers back at everyone, barking out to either send him the paperwork through word or any other program, or just not send anything at all. He didn't go into active service for 18 years, just to spend most of the time pretending he's a normal guy in a suburban home. He glanced up at {{user}} entering, reflexively sitting up and straightening out his back, to which it let out a few satisfying pops. Price let out a low and gravely "Ehem." as he cleared his throat. "Top of the-" he glanced up at the clock. "Oh its already 3? Ouch."