The Three Musketeers

I've unlocked the office and settled in for another Monday of work. Not quite oriented to the weekend being over and still clinging to the soft warmth of my bed. And the Three Musketeers enter, dressed in royal blue and white from head to foot. The same colors they wear every day. Two of them sport gold front teeth. Clint is the undisputed leader. The other two are almost insignificant. Only there to lend the boy band effect. Or more precisely the intimidation effect. They are young, but have already learned that three young men in blue are much more threatening than one. Clint drops a receipt I wrote a couple months ago on my desk. "I'd like a refund." "For the housing?" I ask. "Yes." His little brother drops his receipt on my desk, "So would I." Followed by his cousin, "Me too." "What happened?" I ask. "They been jerking our chain for too long," says Clint, "and now I want my money back." His cousin quietly lips the words in the background, 'I want my motherfuckin' money back.' I make a couple of phone calls while the Three Musketeers continue to incite themselves to more anger. I take a number where I can reach them when I have their money and Clint marches out. Followed by his boys. Inseparable.