As Mack Trotter rode the elevator down to the lobby, he glanced at himself in the mirrored walls of the six by eight box and decided he was looking distinctly tubby. He sucked in his gut and chided himself for letting a few spare pounds settle on his midriff.

“Fewer steaks, more gym,” he muttered and smoothed down an errant lock of hair. It still felt damp from his shower, but he was anxious to get to the bar, so he had not bothered drying it. It had been a long day and he needed some R and R, preferably with extra Rrrrrrrrr.

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