He drew two pistols. Spurs clanked like old silverware, announcing every step. In the distance a rusty herd of Mustang raced the roiling arms of an oncoming prairie t-storm.

"Jim," said Marsha from Marketing, waving a file folder before his eyes. "Jim?"

Jim blinked, and realised he was brandishing two staplers.

"Yeehaw," he said quietly.