Lazy Hazy Days

It was a bright and shining morning in a small government office. The quiet hum of a half-dozen computers filled the air. The buzzing of the Carrier air conditioner chimed in on occasion to deliver a stunning duet reminiscent of other appliance masters like the prima donna Frigidaire or the late Viking sensation of the previous era. Sadly, this particular apparatus fell short of its refrigerator cousins leaving the room none too cool and somewhat humid.
A warm glow advanced from the south-facing window as noon approached. Altogether the air could be compared to a soft linen sheet wrapping its way around the human form, ever responsive to subtle movement and always providing a gentle comfort that would coax any loyal public servant into a trance-like state far removed from the unwaivering perserverance with which his duties are handled each and everyday.
Any of said employees might be particularly susceptible if they had been assailed and obliged to take advantage of the previous evening's first morning hours with the likes of charred animal flesh and malted intoxicants. If such an employee were to have been similarly accosted on several evenings consecutively, one might venture a guess that he could become a consistent victim of these siren-like vapours. Vapours that sing to him each and every morning drawing him into a waking slumber and leaving him not unlike one of Bruce Campbell's cinematic adversaries (although far more attractive).