Writing a novel, because uh, I wana be a novelist
There she is, the multi-billion dollar CEO of the nation's number one fahion industry. Laura Mishkin, the owner of Anarchy, the first corporate organization to finally get all of the world's "punk authority" to buy into a product which allows them to dress in a way that allows them express their rebellious outlook on life. Funny how a huge corporation whose CEO wears a suit to work everyday can sell clothing that envelops an idea which is completely against corporation, yeah, a complete oxymoron. Thing is, Laura's closest connection to the entire "punk" world is me, and she doesn't even know that, yet.
Of course, the obvious question would be, who am I? well, I would be her under-paid and over-worked secretary, whose only loyalty to this position is the bi-weekly check. Of course, the job has other certain perks too, a corner desk, a computer with an internet connection, a pair of headphones, and, of course, the scenery in the office isn't all that bad. Doesn't really compare with not being at work, but getting paid for sitting around and taking notes isn't all that horrible in the scheme of things. Though the world could use a bit more spice, there's a bit too much office and not quite enough action around this place.
"Brian?" Laura's voice comes through my headphones, and no matter how many times a day she pages me, it's always a bit of a surprise to have someone's voice break through the middle of a wailing guitar solo. "Y-yeah?" I manage, trying to sound as if I didn't nearly topple out of my chair. "Brian, could you please tell me my schedule for tomorrow?"
Of course, the obvious question would be, who am I? well, I would be her under-paid and over-worked secretary, whose only loyalty to this position is the bi-weekly check. Of course, the job has other certain perks too, a corner desk, a computer with an internet connection, a pair of headphones, and, of course, the scenery in the office isn't all that bad. Doesn't really compare with not being at work, but getting paid for sitting around and taking notes isn't all that horrible in the scheme of things. Though the world could use a bit more spice, there's a bit too much office and not quite enough action around this place.
"Brian?" Laura's voice comes through my headphones, and no matter how many times a day she pages me, it's always a bit of a surprise to have someone's voice break through the middle of a wailing guitar solo. "Y-yeah?" I manage, trying to sound as if I didn't nearly topple out of my chair. "Brian, could you please tell me my schedule for tomorrow?"