Seated in his small but comfortable den, still in shirt and tie, Enoshi
removes his glasses to rub briefly at his eyes. The tension headache that has 
been plaguing him all evening shows no sign of abating, and little wonder. His 
briefcase sits open on the coffee table. The cursor of his portacomp winks relentlessly at him from the display. An abundance of 
hard copy lies scattered around him on the table and the sofa. The air is full 
of the smoke from the spent cigarettes now overflowing the ashtray. He’s
poisoning himself with carbon monoxide, or whatever it is that cigarettes 
produce, and he’s probably overdue for an eye examination. And he’s out of
coffee again.