‘Twas the Friday before Christmas, when all through the Agenci,
Not an Agent was stirring, not even a martini.
The books were laid open by the elevator with care,
In hopes that client receivables soon would be there.

Today is the first day of winter. If you're lucky, your hair smells like a bonfire right now because you were at a winter solstice shindig last night, partying with hippies until the wee hours of the morning.