A Sheep Called Pepito

Handsome, fit and confident; what woman could resist such a combination?

Ha! Some party, last night, though.

But, Christ he felt lousy this morning though.

Maybe it was because of the party; the alcohol, the food, or maybe it was the body responding to Sue's fitness regime. Between the power walking, the lawn mowing, washing the car in thirty five degree heat, and the beer in his system, he was amazed with himself that he could even get himself to work that morning.

All these things added up to the reasons why his feet were dragging.

Face it, Ray, you're overweight. And you smoke. And just thinking about all that filled him with despair and his body suddenly felt a couple of kilograms heavier, and his smoky clothes and dank breath suddenly began to reek.

Or maybe it was the carpet?

With all that beer that was tossed around on Saturday, it would have come as no surprise to discover most of it had found its way into the carpet. The place smelt like the warm, inhabited odour of a pub.

Once the place looked a little more orderly, he went back to his desk. Back to the grindstone.

Today; more like Tombstone.

But before he did he stopped for another cigarette. I cant' hurry things today, he thought. Fatigue was becoming a factor that was threatening to undo the thin threads of composure in his mind.

A holiday; now that would be nice.

He had been working solid for eight months without as much as a week off. Deadlines, a driving boss, and a work ethic that said; don't stop, were all factors in his fatigue. There were stories that needed collating, editing and proofreading, and although the magazine was a bi monthly publication, there were the regular requirements of making sure the journal was of the highest quality, which meant going over everything more than once. There was still the need to get out there amongst the people and find out what the real stories were, and that sometimes meant travelling for days just to get to those far out properties for the sake of a story or a picture or simply to re immerse oneself in that environment. More often than not he left that up to Kevin Zedoff, who delighted in getting back to those familiar shearing sheds with his mates. He turned his PC on and waited for it to open his word processing software. It duly obliged and returned to the last page that he had been working on. It was Issue 20, and not due to hit the market for another four weeks, but already complete and waiting for Ray to apply the last finishing touches to the final article before it was sent to a company in Taiwan for printing. Printing the journal overseas was much cheaper because of the labour costs in this country which precluded Outhouse from sticking to local firms. Theirs was not the only one. In fact, most publications were now printed overseas.

He brewed a coffee and took a seat for a few mundane hours of proofreading.

Noel Poole entered the office about five minutes later in his usual flap and flurry. He checked his watch, rolled his eyes and said to Ray:

"Shit! Is that the time?"

"Morning, Noel. Pull up a pew."

"The boss in yet?" Noel asked, looking around. He dropped a small black umbrella beside the desk and draped a black plastic coat over the chair. Water drops started making small puddles on the carpet.