Four lines of prose about: the scales.
In honor of the scale I purchased today in Burnaby, for use at our stall at the farmers market. It was pricey, but not as bad as I suspected it was going to be. And thankfully it's already certified (a requirement of the market association) so I don't have to go through the hassle of arranging to have that done.
This is going up earlier than usual since people are coming over tonight and I wasn't sure I'd be able to get back on the computer before midnight.
The words on the investigative report began to blur and I put it aside to rub the palms of my hands against my eyes. I didn't bother looking at the clock on my bedside table - I already knew it was too late for my own good.
With a heavy sigh I returned to the report on my brother and pushed on. I had paid good money for that information but it would all be for naught if I couldn't find a bit of dirt that would finally tip the scales in my favor.