you’re the editor of an insanely successful magazine, you write about all sorts. music, fashion, film, the arts. you love your job, but you have a reputation for being quite intense. when something goes wrong someone gets the blame, and they get blamed. i mean you’re screaming and threatening and all sorts.

you’re sat in a cafe working on next months edition of the magazine. you have a copy of your work on your laptop, but you like to work on the magazine in the book, liking the layout of the actual magazine in front of you.

jacob was having a bad day. he woke up late and freezing cold because his heating turned off. his favourite jumper was in the wash, his phone hadn’t charged overnight, and the barista had just gotten his order wrong, but the boys too shy to correct them so he just took the drink he doesn’t want and quite frankly doesn’t like.

as he walks past your table, he trips over a table leg and collapses onto your table, his coffee spilling all over it, all over the book, thankfully not over you. he stands up and tries to apologise but no words come out. he recognises you, of course he recognises you. because the perfect addition to his perfect morning is he just spilt coffee all over the stuff of the editor of the magazine his agents trying to get him on the cover of.

he just stares at you and bursts into tears.