A Precarious Perch…

Of all the grimy, gritty third-floor corner offices in this urban wonderland, she had to walk into mine.

She stood in the doorway, waiting for me to notice her. With a figure that added an extra proton to every atom within a 50-yard radius, that didn’t take long. I pride myself on my professionally- honed powers of observation.

She was wearing a white pleated skirt, black sheer nylons with that seam in the back, red spiked heels that matched her lipstick, and a cashmere sweater that may have been used in place of a skin graft. And she was holding a small patent- leather pocketbook, where she likely kept her white gloves. I presumed that the black veiled hat was still in the car. She would want to be careful not to overdo the effect.

I discretely looked down to scan my name from the desk blotter, put my coffee mug down, and tried to swallow the sizable chunk of powdered cruller that had lodged itself just behind my sinus cavity. Hoping to summon a voice that was roughly an octave deeper than the one I was born with, I risked speaking.

” Hello. Welcome to the Law Offices of Spade, Spenser, and Coyne. Please come in.”

As soon as I opened my mouth, I immediately knew two things; crullers taste much better with that extra proton added in, and it is almost impossible to be wry and devilishly charming with powdered sugar all over your face.



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