SlightlyCooked

Prologue. Mr Flowers wiped the sweat from his brow with the soon-to-be damp side of his striped handkerchief. He glanced at the clock above the filing cabinet in his sweltering office that read twenty five minutes past one. He had an emergency meeting at half past. After dragging his dripping body from his chair, he stuffed all his paperwork hastily into his confidential folder and hurried out of his office. The corridor outside was, if it was possible, more boiling than his office making his eyes feel heavy and his eyelids stuffed with cotton wool. Out of the floor-to-ceiling window he glimpsed the city of San Francisco, looking as hot as