The neon light flickered, on and off, smog billowing and whores whoring illuminated in her glaze. Stretching out, she reached into my office, her gentle glow caressing my face. I leaned back in my chair, lighting another cigarette. The cold streets might be my home, but tonight I stayed with only my filing for company. The night belonged to lovers, so I stuck to daytime. And, as...
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I yelled.
Max, dressed in by best suit and Fedora, was reclining in an office chair in front of the window. Outside, someone had fitted a flashing red light to a smog machine and tied up what I believed to be a prostitute, or a mature woman with bad fashion sense.
"Role-playing," Max replied. "Ever since I became unsuper again, I've been feeling ordinary. You know, bored of myself. So I thought I'd try being someone else."
I stopped. That was actually kinda sad.
"Ok" I said sympathetically, "Who are you being?"
"I'm trying out a hardened accountant," Max replied. "Look - I've got spreadsheets and receipts and everything!"
My sympathy evaporated. A lot of smog was filling the room now, and the whore had freed herself. Lost in the mist - like those gorillas - she emerged, brandishing a broken bottle - like those gorillas Max tried to mug at the zoo. Hastily, I locked myself in the bathroom. It seemed safest, and I needed to pee anyway.