It's all about Martia

'You know Doug, it's a bloody dog's breakfast at work.' Looking over his shoulder at his friend, 'C'mon, let's go.'

Opening the door to the Prado, he watched as Doug climbed in before climbing in himself. He shifted the car into reverse, glanced at the camera mid-dashboard before glancing into the left wing mirror, down the street, then slowly backed out onto the road, swinging the arse of the car uphill.

Tapping the car from reverse into drive with his hand, he accelerated down the hill. 'Dog's breakfast, seriously. You should've heard them all when they realised the shit was about to hit the fan with the latest delivery stuff-up. A ton of kibble was delivered to the horse stud while a tray truck of hay was getting delivered to the kennels. Insane, such a stupid stuff-up.'

He looked across at his friend, who, for his part, was looking out the window, although when he realised Mick had stopped talking, he turned back and looked at him expectantly, telling him to continue without saying a word; it was all in his eyes.

Turning back towards the road.

Mick continued 'Anyways, Martia... god she's hot.' Stopping abruptly, he didn't mean to say that. Again, he looked at Doug. 'Seriously, man, she is. Yeah, I know, I know. Ask her out, I know you've said it before. I will, seriously, I will.'

'Anyways, she was so cool. I swear she knows her shit, was the calmest one in the warehouse when they'd realised their stuff was up. She'd come down from the office to point out the issue. Tony, Tony! The dick who stuffed it started to carry on like a real pork chop. Anyway, cool as a cucumber, Martia simply raised her eyebrows at him and stopped him dead in his tracks. Everyone calmed down, and she told him what to do and how to resolve it. She was brilliant.'

He stopped talking, hit the lever, right indicator on, and swung across the oncoming lane up into the car park, then a hard left, hard right, and landed perfectly into the vacant spot right out the front of the bottlo. 'Hang here a tick, mate. I'll be right back.' Jumping out of the car, Mick ran in, entered the shop walking, acknowledging the checkout fellow with the briefest of brief nods before disappearing into the cool room to grab a four-pack of beer.

Then out to the counter, again a quick nod and 'Yeah, good mate, you.' The checkout dude scanned the barcode on his beers, then his reward card, double-clicked on the side of the phone, beep, and he was done, heading for the door.

And he stopped like a doorjamb, both holding it open and blocking the way.

It was Martia. 'Hey, Mick, is this your dog? I recognised your truck. I didn't know you had a dog.'

Mick, mouth dry, tongue stuck to the top of his mouth, managed to stammer out, 'Uh, yeah, that's Doug.'