“17, 2016, WASHINGTON, D.C. When Alex Malone awoke at eight o’clock, she followed her usual routine; she rose as the sun streamed through the small bedroom window, grabbed her robe from its usual spot on the floor and searched in vain for her slippers for about ten seconds before giving up and staggering, blearily, towards the kitchen. The coffee machine was on its usual timer and a steaming cup awaited her, black as pitch. She retrieved her favorite mug from the rack by the sink, sham...bled over and poured a cup, then dipped her head slightly to slurp up the first inch. Her eyes rolled back in her head slightly at the joyful flavor, the autonomic bliss of knowing the caffeine would hit at any moment. “Geez, what a night,” she said to the empty kitchen. Most of the evening had been spent at a benefit staged by the Nigerian embassy. Malone had been trying to get to a particular source for a story she was working on, but it had required drinking his assistant almost under the table.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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