A confident, corporate woman in her early 40’s with 15 years’ tenure, marches into an executive-occupied conference room. She doesn’t give a hoot if her perfume is office appropriate. She’ll only be there long enough to announce her immediate resignation and peer into the eyes of those, now soulless, in suits. She wears a sinister half grin. She doesn’t need them; she never did.
She saunters back to her Benz and floors it to her favorite dive bar. She’s met with the pungent odor of every bar in the light of day, where the first round shall be on her.
