Dirty, he felt dirty when he sat down at work. All those eyes were judging him. Those eyes, whether he saw them or not, were tearing him down with burgeoning piece of wispy hearsay. His affair with the recently fired receptionist, the one with the fetching blue eyes, was popular water-cooler gossip. The two were caught in a supply room, after hours, by an eighty year old custodian named Art. Art, who, in his younger days, had similar indiscretions, thoroughly sympathized with their predicament and promised to keep their secret on one condition: he got to watch. He escorted Art outside and left the door open a crack, enough for a curious prying eye to catch a glimpse. The two were utterly absorbed with the task they shared, so much so that they were oblivious to the sound of Art collapsing - dead, and lecherous grin frozen for all time.