“Simmons, I need you to… uh…” Muller trailed off, his brows furrowing, then slowly lifting upward.
“Yes, boss?” said Simmons.
“I… uh… you… what are you wearing?”
Simmons glanced down, then back up, smiling. “Casual Friday, sir.” He rustled when he moved.
“That’s a bear skin.” Muller’s tone was flat.
“Yes, sir.”
“And… burlap pants?” He couldn’t restrain a wince.
“Yes, sir. The code of conduct doesn’t specify any of these as contraband,” Simmons said reproachfully.
“Look, the thing with Jenkins was bad enough. This is-“ He froze. “Did your belt just move?”
“Garter snake, sir. Couldn’t find my belt.”
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