Mary, like many of her colleagues, was an ideal office drone. She did what she was told, within reason. She came in even when she was sick because otherwise the bosses might think that she lacked dedication and would remember it when they handed out the annual raises. She embraced a policy of non-confrontation because who needed the stress? She worked hard when she was at work, but left it all there when she went home. She didn't think about project deadlines or corporate presentations when her foot was out the door every day.

Management found Mary very agreeable (whether or not she genuinely was) and this was unfortunate when they approached her today. For Mary was having a bad day. The office intern had lost her project book that he was supposed to go make copies of. She ran late that morning and bypassed her coffee stop, so she had to resort to the office coffee, which someone clumsily spilled on her blouse. Mary was wholly not agreeable today.

So when they came and asked her to fill in at the eleventh hour to take over a quality assurance report from one of her incompetent counterparts, they did not receive the answer they expected. After they asked, they were about to leave, already expecting a yes, the heard the unthinkable.

"No," she said, without malice or emotion. Just no.

They asked her if she was busy with something else.

"Yes," she said, with no clarification.

The truth of the matter was that she was busy with other projects, but she would usually have made time for the report had they asked for her help. But she was not feeling helpful today. She was tired of doing others people's work and her policy of non-confrontation was temporarily lifted. Today, she could not brush it off. A plastic smile and pleases and thank yous would not be enough.

They walked away, dumbfounded, having never been so succinctly and tersely rejected. The rest of the day, Mary's coworkers whispered about her stance against the corner office lackeys. Amazing, they thought. Unbelievable, they thought, with no small amount of admiration.

At the end of the day, Mary left work as usual, without a care in the world after stepping out the door, and an extra bounce in her step.

Carnaval

Roberto slipped on his reading glasses for the finishing touches, feathering red paint around the underside of the model's breast. It had been a long three hours and as much as he enjoyed the art, he was glad to be done soon. The model fidgeted, tired from standing in his studio for so long, naked no less.

"Hold still," he said.

"Are you done? This paint itches."

"That'll go away."

He stood a few feet back and admired his work.

"All done," he said.

She stepped down from the pedestal, a phoenix off her perch. In two days, she would be gyrating and flitting around on a float, dancing into a sweaty frenzy. Music will sound, saturating the street in rhythmic nirvana. Carnaval is here.

NY

Lights explode in Times Square on a Friday night. The city is alive. At the stroke of midnight, the streets are still teeming with people dressed for a night on the town. Elsewhere across the country, sleepy hamlets have already started their nights, but in New York City, the scene is coming into full swing. There will be dancing and drinking and merry to be made until the last reveler clambers unbalanced into a yellow cab.