By: Bill McCool

3 p.m. rolls around. You had an entirely unreasonable lunch of pulled pork sliders instead of that salad you should have ordered. You’re closing in on comatose and struggling to keep your eyes open as you wish someone would just finally Clockwork Orange you already. You drank two pots of coffee this morning and you’re not going back down that road. Maybe you’ll reach for that Red Bull now?

Or maybe not.