This is a story of a man whose adventures will one day be remembered in song. This is the story of John, of the suburban warrior clan Kauffman.

“Yeah, though he walks through the shadows of the valley of Beth, he shall fear no tantrum.”

“Neither early hour, lack of sleep, looming holiday, nor foul taste of breath, shall keep him from his appointed rounds.”

“Sick to his stomach and he’s still riding that damn bike to work?”

“Doesn’t have much sense as to what is lyrical, does he?”

—

It is that rarest of workplace occasions, the Friday before a holiday. They only come two or three to a year – tops. When they do, there’s a dearth of warm bodies in the office. Me? I’m usually right here in my office, toiling away the minutes with remarkable dedication. Although, I am taking a time out to write… maybe I’m not so dedicated after all.

Maestro, cue up the band. It’s time to pick things up a notch. (Or just turn on the radio, which ever is more convenient.)