I turned the corner cautiously
into the kitchen at work,
hoping for emptiness.
I just wanted a quiet sanctuary,
away from the gossip agenda.
Much to my surprise, I found out
I'm ******* the secretary.

"That's odd," I think to myself.
"I don't recall that."

In struts Justin, the ******* from accounting.
"So, how'd you get that play?"
A devilish smile crawls onto his face

"*******, man."

I walk to the breakroom.
Kaylie's there in a pencil skirt that could
be mistaken for skin and a sheer shirt
over a lacy bra that pushes up her ****
so much you'd swear she was suffocating.
She raises an eyebrow and I assume that's
a greeting.
But she speaks as well,

"Hello, *******."

I gulp cold coffee down.
This talk is usual and never goes below two feet deep.
"Hello... what is it today? ****?"

"Very funny. I heard you're ******* the ***** up front."

"Yeah, well, talk is cheap, ain't it?  Besides, I heard you're blowing Troy."

"What? Where did you--"

"Relax, red light. I don't give a **** if he's ******* you on his head. Just make sure I don't walk in on the fun, alright?"

"You think you're such a smooth operator, don't you? You know, you could write the book on being an *******."

"Well, thanks for having faith, but you've got it wrong. I'm a smooth talker. And it would be a 10-step pamphlet. I don't have the integrity or patience to write a book."

"*******. When I'm a Washington big shot and you're a washed up ******* with a camera, we'll see who's laughing."

"When you're a Washington big shot, I'll set myself on fire and jump ship out of this ******* country, screaming "Kaylie the Cumbucket!" on the free fall down like the lunatic I am."

She grins, "sometimes I think you've lost your mind."

"Sometimes, red light, I know I have."