Black shoes click into the sterile office.
The sound bounces off the walls and scatters around the room like rubber balls.
I hear her before I see her.
She sounds dark, official.
Authority on heels with a briefcase in hand.
Black shoes enter my cubicle, followed by a red dress.
Opening the door with a screech of the judgement bells.
She enters the office.
Her sharp, blatant perfume pricks my nose with needles of superiority.
Bright red lips form a practiced, plastic, politician smile.
Silence stretches between us,
A wall made of rough, textured bricks of fear and anticipation.
I extend the olive branch,
Greeting her politely.
Black shoes nods her head,
Glances around the office,
A queen with nothing to say to her worker bee.