LAYING on his bed, his head on the pillow and staring at the white ceiling was Oswald. His laptop was on his belly, open and active as he was working on it before wandering away in his thoughts.

His thoughts were filled with so many unusuals, occupied wholly by the scene at the entrance of the kitchen where he had met his supposed personal maid.

“Gosh!” He exclaimed, “why must it have to be her? Why her? She is too hard a nut to crack,” he found himself soliloquizing.

“I have always just needed someone that wouldn't stay even longer than Maria did, this one, the two times I have...