After what seemed like the hundredth meeting of the day, Roger was finally able to grab a break. She was almost seething, clomping off the elevator as fast as her heavy black boots would carry her. "Fucking drones" she muttered as she made it outside to the smoking area, and fished through her black purse for her pack of clove cigarettes. Roger found the pack and tapped one out.
A moment later, one of the men from the office walked up beside her. It was Matt - one of the many bland guys she was trying to just ignore.
"Hey Rog, boy that was a lame meeting, huh?"
Roger just rolled her eyes and fumbled around her purse, trying to find her lighter.
"Say, aren't you a little young for such a bad habit?"
Roger looked up and glared. "Fuck you, asshole! I'm a walking bad habit. What are you, my wife?"
"Jesus, sorry Rog. Say, I'll give you a light if I can bum a smoke."
Roger still couldn't find her lighter, but her nicotine craving was just too much.
"Ugh, fine." She handed him a cigarette and stuck hers in her mouth. Matt reached up to light it for her, but she snatched the lighter away. After a few flicks and a couple of puffs, she felt her nerves calming a bit. She handed the lighter back.
"I saw you staring at my legs earlier. Better cut it out, 'cuz it's not happening, creep."
Matt shrugged as he flicked the lighter. "Hey, not many people wear miniskirts and fishnets at the office. I gotta say, Roger, sometimes you're a breath of fresh air."
The corners of Rogers deep purple lips turned up slightly as blue smoke slipped out. At least somebody could appreciate her for who she was - even if he was currently staring at her cleavage. Maybe Matt was kinda cool, though it would be nice if he had some tattoos or something.
Finally, Matt got the flame to take, and breathed deeply the aromatic smoke. Then, something happened. Something neither he nor Roger noticed. Matt tossed the lighter back into his black purse. He noticed Roger had one just like it.
"Nice bag, Roger."
"Thanks Matt. Your skirt rocks." It had purple skulls on it, like Roger's. And Zoe's.
"Thanks. I just can't understand how all these fuckers can dress like each other every day. I mean, show some fucking individuality for chrissakes." She flipped her long black hair behind her slender bare shoulders. Roger and Matt looked at each other.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Roger asked.
"We should ditch." Matt said.
"Totally. Come on, I'll drive." With that, the two Zoe clones stomped out their cigarette butts and hopped into Roger's car, speeding out of the parking lot.
