tick, tock, tick, tock…

The clock on my desk clacked away the seconds as I kept a wary eye out for my fellow employees. I brought it from home, something about the intrinsic comfort of a real time piece, a conceivable process ticking away as opposed to digital mystery behind faint LCD. No other item from home made it to my desk, no other evidence of my non-work self to be displayed.

Cheery faces came and went, all so unabashedly happy. They wanted me to know it too. The greetings were warm and the questions sincere. My responses were measured and answers evasive. My own tapping heel kept double-time rhythm to the traffic around me.

Gliding across pristine marble came a statuesque woman with the bearing of a ballerina. Dainty legs disappeared beneath a teasingly tasteful skirt. An admirable physique peeked from behind the light gray blazer. Hair like honey from heaven fell about upright shoulders. Bright teeth flashed in an angel’s smile.

This woman could be only one thing: trouble.