Someone shouts from behind, you turn to look, skimming your eyes across the clock as you go. You’re going to be late. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I’m talking to you bitch.” Says a man as he skids to a stop in front of you, looming over you. His nostrils flare. “You parked your fancy piece of shit in front of my car. Move. It.” He punctuates the last few words with flying spittle.
You take a step back and shift your portfolio in your arms. “I do believe you are correct. That is my car behind yours.” You snap your fingers and Ralph, your driver, steps up behind the man. “Ralph would you be so kind as to move the car, it seems were are blocking in this fine gentleman’s car.”
“Right away ma’...
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