Jocelyn Stevens

The chairman is running late. Half an hour. His PA has been popping her head around the door every ten minutes to convey his apologies. The sound of him barking out orders carries through the walls and, alongside me on the squeaky leather sofa in the corridor, I sense the spectral presence of employees past: broken and wretched minions summoned here to squirm a while before finding out if they're to be sacked. There is a chill in the air and, to the imagination, the cough of a nearby secretary becomes Read more [...]