“Macks, And Mail, and Mentoring”

“The girls like it — I guess that’s all that matters.”

“My boy, I know you’re not upset right now. You have your methods and I have mine.”

“Touché.”

“I know.” The bros cackle and chicken wing one another. Their demeanor becomes decidedly more mature, as recognized heel clacking continues closer; not necessarily louder. One leg, then the other, crosses over the threshold, onto traffic carpet that Yayo laid himself, just last week.

“Hi, boys.” Jamiela smelled of cardamom, ginger and nutmeg. She was edible, and Monte licked his lips; he always licked his lips, hoping that Jamiela would notice him. “Monte, we should do lunch today. I need your help, if you don’t mind. Come to my office at eleven-thirty, and we can go from there?”

Monte froze, closing his eyes and inhaling; “yes, that’s perfect. I’ll see you then. Eighth floor, right?”

“Oh, stop it. You couldn’t forget what floor I’m on if you tried.”

“You’re right. You got all the good cakes…I mean snacks. Yeah, snacks.” Jamiela’s mouth curved and her cheekbones seemed to glow, before turning around and blessing the mailroom with her exit. The men began chicken winging, again; this time, even more animated.

“This is it, my boy. You’ve been patiently waiting it out while goofy finally…