Finding A Job

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     "Amy McWane? You're up" a confident voice says clearly.

      I stand up, smoothing out my black skirt and button my blazer. Shakily, I open the heavy spruce wood door and sit down in a cold leather chair.

     "Welcome, Amy" a deep voice says, calm and collected. "Please, make yourself at home! I won't bite."
    
     I pull my chair closer to the polished wood, admiring the craftsmanship.

     "Nice to meet you, Mr?" I say, indirectly asking for his name.
     
     "Florence. Mr. Florence" he responds. "Now let's get this show on the road."
    
     I pass my paper filled with jobs I've done for newspaper companies, and what books I've already written. He studies the words carefully, concentrated an amazing amount. After what feels like five years, he finally speaks again.

      "You've got the job, Amy McWane."
    

    

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