“Another day, another dollar,” she mumbled.
The courtyard was a convincing Eden. That was the idea. The workday needed a momentary break from it’s sterility. It seemed the world was mostly in the sky or boxed in cold steel. Momentum could afford such grandiose break rooms.
Heilen looked around at the Private Service Agents. She wondered how they went from eating boxed lunches to breaking someone’s face moments later.
“Dicks!” she heard someone grumble.
Heilen glanced over her shoulder in time to see the petite agent kick the metal recycle bin.
“Great boots,” she whispered, peering at the black vinyl knee highs on the agent. The agent seemed infuriated over what appeared to be a malfunctioning lighter. She had a cigarette hanging from a pouty bottom lip, her asymmetrical bangs hung like black curtains sloping over one violet eye. She flicked and flicked with a fury.
“No smoking, I’m afraid.” Heilen piped up.
“Excuse me?” The agent turned.
“Sorry,” Heilen flushed, “The courtyard has an embedded humidity oxidation reduction system that renders anything that produces a flame practically useless.”
“Dicks,” the agent replied.
Filed under: Momentum, Updates, eschaton, heilen, mix, rien beau, story, w. l. grimsley | Tagged: cigarette, Eden, eschaton, fugue legion, futuristic, heilen, indie bookshelf, indie writer, mix, Momentum, rien beau, sci fi, story, W.L. Grimsley, writer, writers
