So, almost every Friday, I’ll be doing a thing called Friday Fictioneers, in which Rochelle Wissoff-Fields posts a picture as a prompt, and we each write a story of about 100 words based off of it.
I’m feeling pretty “off” today, so the quality isn’t all that great. It’s been like a sauna here the past several days, which means sleep wasn’t happening, and I spent most of yesterday with dilated eyes from an eye exam. My brain just isn’t happy with me.
Anyway, here’s my contribution. My girl has just about as much tolerance for being hit on by people who are supposed to be professional as I do.
|PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy|
He slithered into the room, eyes beady and skin waxy. The pinstripe suit turned a gaunt figure emaciated. “Thank you for agreeing to meet, Mrs. Kimora.”
Di remembered a lawn ornament she’d passed by on her way to the office; a wire skeleton topped by an animal skull. “It’s Ms. Kimora.”
“You’re not married?” His oily smile revealed perfect teeth. “I could change that for you.”
Her jaw twitched. “You just lost yourself a client.” She stood. “If you’re gonna work with women, get their names right and can the pick up artist shtick.”