Accounts in the mist

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.