(…)

This guy may be a loving dad when he addresses his kids, but when he turns to unload his tray, he takes in everything and everyone around him simultaneously with sharp, black eyes that gleam with shrewdness. Startling.

I don’t remember seeing him before, but then most of the office renters are anonymous to us kitchen workers. They come and go, usually looking down to avoid any interaction. As for us, we’re too busy doing our tasks efficiently to stop and see our customers. At the end of the day, several hundred people, maybe a thousand, have visited the restaurant, and I don’t remember a single face.

He sure stands out. A short, neatly trimmed beard and mustache frame aristocratic sun-licked features that match his black gelled hair. To strengthen the impression of elegance and high social standing, his custom-tailored clothes seem to be made of some expensive fabric a thug like me would never know. His hands look so neat and fine, they must be manicured, one of them wearing a large dual metal wedding ring. All of this combined, he exudes wealth and power, and with the black pirate eyes of a slick business fucker, he’s the kind to have a suite on the top floor, the kind to profit on others less fortunate, the kind to despise low-paid workers like Vasilj and me.

Such arrogance. I swear on my mother’s grave, he needs to be put in his place, and though I’m not a beast, I’d like to see him visit prison for a few days. I know a pedophile or two who would have a field day with him, teach him a little respect.

Better yet, I could fuck this slick shithead myself right here on his turf, at the top of our power tower. And when I say fuck, I mean bend him over his million-dollar mahogany desk and slide my thick, hard cock into his million-dollar anus for the whole city at our feet to see.

Copyright @ 2026 Lea Bronsen