The race was on.

I'd spotted the last cake donut on the tray when I walked into the office, so did Sid from Accounts Payable. He's a shrewd bastard, admittedly so. I once saw him snag half a birthday cake from the third floor because everyone in Risk Management was in a meeting. He ate the damn thing for lunch, giggling the whole time, a gob of chocloate frosting dangling from his chin like a devilish little goatee. I seldom partook of the office treats but I needed the donut, too much Maker's the night before. Linda had left for good.

"Hey, buddy--"
"No," I said to Sid, "it's mine."

Sid's phoney, mouth only, smile disintergrated.

"What's that?" He asked.

"The donut is mine, Sid."
"Wow, dida skip your cornfla--"
"Sid, you're an ass."

I grabbed the donut and took a satisfying bite as I looked directly at Sid.

"This is for my homies on 3," I said with a gobful.