The Graphics Designer

Previously

…He backed away slowly, the silver folder clutched in his hand like a shield. He looked utterly defeated, a slick serpent suddenly rendered quite harmless. As the door clicked shut behind him, I leaned back in my chair, a genuine, unforced laugh bubbling up from my chest. The cursor blinked, no longer accusatory, but a silent witness to an accident of brilliance. Bartholomew, my fluffy muse, had saved the day. And I, Marvellous Vuranda, the comically clueless graphic designer, had, against all odds, created something truly memorable. The pasta was singing, and so, in my own wonderfully awkward way, was I.