"Warmongerers Anonymous?"

She cupped the receiver to her ear, with her shoulder, as she rummaged about her desk for a pen and some paper.

"Mmm hmm. Okay. Okay. Yep. Yep. Okay got it. Yes, sir. Yes, sir? Three O'clock, that's right. Room seven. Okay see you then. Bye now."

The reciever was placed back on its handle, cutting off the dial tone. She looked down at the piece of paper that she was holding with both hands just a little ways out in front of her.

"Where's my damn glasses."

She looked around a moment, then, of course, they were hanging around her neck.

"Ah, here we go."

She grabbed her specs with her left hand, the desk lamp with her right and simultaneously lit up the piece of paper and peeked through her prescription glasses, to read what the man on the telephone had asked her to write down.

"8. 0. 0. 8. 5."

+++

Rest Well, Warmonger.