It was classic,
just like Delphi said it would be.
Bright lights
(I mean bright),
yellow walls
(shades of *****),
a low hum
(in the bass range).
Mister Suit
sporting a razor-thin mustache
sat stoic at a long black table
carrying a wry grin,
his eyes shades of pitch.
They unshackled me,
hands pushed me down
into a chrome chair
with a firm red leather cushion.
Screams came through the wall
from the room next to us.
I sat there just as stoic
across from him
with a wry smile
of my own.
It felt like a scene
from a stereotypical sci-fi flic,
it wasn't though.
This was as real as it gets,
these guys meant business.
Guys like me were trouble
for the Control Boys.
They'd find out soon
I wasn't a pushover.