A man's world

She stepped into the office. He was sitting behind the bargain plywood desk, his massive chest taking up the entire king size office chair. His gut was like a drum, taut, with the shirt tightly tucked in. She wasn't sure if it was a beer belly or cheap fast-food, but looking around the office, she thought it was probably both. He looked up at her. She could tell by the look on his face that she wasn't quite what he expected. "They told me you don't have time for me, so I'll make this as quick as I can" he said. She slightly nodded her head in agreement as a sly smile escaped her lips. She seated herself in front of his trashy desk, and with that he began to clear it. Obviously she had enough time to finish business. He picked up the openly displayed pack of Newports. Rather unusual nowadays, since smoking had gotten such a nasty rap. He grabbed the near empty bottle of Mountain Dew into the same hand that held the pack of cigarettes. He didn't strike her as someone who would bother with diet sodas or let alone water. With the other hand he scooped up the styrofoam plate that must have had his lunch on it hours ago. He walked out to get rid of the garbage. Apparently there was no trashcan in the low budget make shift office he occupied. He returned and sat back down across from her. Throughout the transaction he kept peeking at her, as if he waited for something to happen. She pretended not to notice. Instead she surveyed her surroundings. Then she took another good look at him. His voice was raspy. Probably from smoking, she thought. His fingers matched his stature. They were short and stubby. He began typing on the keyboard. She was keenly aware how slow his progress was despite using all ten fingers to type. The modern keyboard only emphasized the size and shape of his inflexible fingers. His fists must have been able to pack a punch when he was still young and driven. Before he ended up in this shabby place. Despite his curious uncertainty about her, she could see a certain kind of confidence in his wheeling and dealing ways. He had that air about him of knowing his shortcuts in a long-established system.She sat back in her stiff visitor chair and relaxed a bit. Just enough to let her mind trick her into reminiscening about pretend memories. She could envision him, in a three-piece tailored suit, jacket slung over the back of a real leather chair behind a gigantic mahogany desk, cigar dangling from the corner of his lip, his fedora hat pushed up out of his face, while he ran the books. She could see herself, paying him under the table to get her the right papers to keep her afloat in the cartel. For a brief moment she was transformed to a time she never knew, but had always been part of. She could hear the voice of Etta James crooning how this is a man's man's world and almost smell the scent of the cigar. The thickly accented voice of the worker in the next office cubicle snapped her back to reality. He had entered their cubicle to let them know he was about to go home. After he left, the guy sitting across from her started complaining how he always ended up being the first one here and the last one leaving. He went on a little tirade about unfairness and how he felt pushed around. She looked at him with a disinterested smile. He wasn't running the books this time around. The books ran him. She could clearly see the failed hustles of the American Dream in his face, that landed anyone in the same hamster wheel who fell for it. He stopped complaining and looked at her with the same curious uncertainty. She realized that she could pretend all she wanted that she wasn't part of that hamster wheel, yet here she was, playing her part in it. "If you could sign on all the lines I highlighted for you, we'll be done with your part" he said. She quickly signed off on the papers, took her copies and rose. He didn't. He just sat there, still looking at her with intrigue. She reached her hand out to him. He grabbed it firmly. "Thank you" she said, giving him a warm smile, as she noticed small beads of sweat on his forehead. "Thank you" he replied, "I'm sorry it took so long, it usually goes faster." She just nodded her head and turned to leave. Before she could close the door she could hear him pick up the ringing phone "yo, dog, yeah, she just left. You never told me that she's such a looker". She chuckled. It finally made sense why he kept looking at her with that uncertainty. ~•~•~•~•~• a beautiful milieu https://youtu.be/WeoqZ4AUenI Image in search of artist