|Photo via Morguefile.com|
For most it would be sad when your life comes down to a junk drawer, poured into a box, that you should've thrown out months ago. A few memories, and a lot of things that could be misconstrued or possibly used against you in a court of law. For Marlena it was good times and business-success-as-usual.
Such is the life of a member of a t-shirt crew- humble, plain, and invisible, just like anyone wearing a t-shirt in a room full of people. Almost indistinguishable, except for the color, like a box of crayons, there were t-shirt specialists of every kind.
Black and white, like dice - they handled casino and gambling issues.
Red, like the coveted Swingline staplers - office and CEO clean up specialists.
The grey battery and tire crew that handled anything mechanical, with wheels, that was ground-based.
The infamous green pencil pushers. If you had money, they could find it, follow it, reallocate it and wreck a company or a country, all from a single receipt.
A tourist book for Brussels, a coin from Cambodia, a beer bottle from Brasil, her missing right iHeadphone (wireless, what a pain!), a tennis bracelet taken from Tiffany's which she secured to her left wrist, and one of those disposable wedding cameras... still undeveloped. She stepped on it, crushing whatever images were there, so might remain unseen.
Other than the Tiffany's bracelet, all that remained after cleaning up and throwing out was her favorite Craftsman, flat-head screwdriver and a fairly new role of "classic silver" duct tape. Oh the stories those two items could tell, if they could talk. Good thing they couldn't or she'd have to kiss them, then kill them.
She smiled. A brilliant bit of her lone wolf nature shone in her sparkling girlish-grin, the one dangerous men and targets saw just before she took them down. She dropped her towel into the final "to go" box, pulled her favorite, somewhat faded blue-jeans on, laced up her black ballistic boots, and donned her chromatically adjustable t-shirt. The screwdriver found a back pocket spot, next to a burner phone, and the tape found a temporary spot of honor on her right wrist. Protecting her burnished-bronze eyes with some Ray Ban tortoise-shelled Wayfarers, she exited the building and dropped the final box in the dumpster. Whistling as she walked down the street, towards the park, on her way to handle the handlers in Washington D.C.
This was a Friday Random Word Improve attempt from 9/30/16 at Eight Ladies Writing.
Here is the word list: