Arthur slumped against a display of staplers. "Is there nowhere else? A hidden stash? A back room? I’ll pay double."
He fell asleep at his desk, his forehead resting on a pile of 1099s, dreaming of a world where everything was digital and the ink never ran dry. buy w2 forms
Arthur jumped. Standing at the end of the aisle was a teenager named Kyle, whose nametag was pinned precariously to a vest covered in snack crumbs. Arthur slumped against a display of staplers
They navigated a labyrinth of towering pallets and bubble wrap. In the dim light of the loading dock, Kyle unearthed a dusty carton. He pulled out a thick stack of NCR paper. The red ink of the "Copy A" form glowed under the dim bulb like a holy relic. "Twelve bucks," Kyle said. "And I never saw you." A back room
He drove home in a trance, burst through his front door, and bypassed his sleeping wife to reach his home office. He didn't trust the printer anymore. He sat down with a fine-tipped black pen. He would hand-write them if he had to.
The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour office supply depot hummed with a low, caffeinated anxiety. It was April 14th, 11:42 PM. Inside, Arthur Pringle moved like a ghost through the aisles, his eyes bloodshot and his tie loosened to the point of surrender.