K.S. made her way down the corridor, it was not bright nor colorful, refrigerators of varying heights, with an assortment of cardboard boxes on top, lined the concrete walls. Standing still for quite some time, K.S. peered down at the scrap of paper in her hand, it read "B10 R6B16". She continued her search for the new billet; figures darted noiselessly behind the diffused glass of office doors; low murmurs came from indistinct locations. The numbers on the wall seemed to follow a sequence for a bit, then suddenly change entirely with letters added and removed. A few workers were visible through the slightly opened door in a small corner room. K.S. pushed on the door and stuck her head inside for a look. Three workers stopped all movement with papers in hand and file cabinets open; they looked over at the visitor with no perceivable expression on their collective face.

K.S. felt is was getting late

"Gang, we've gotta look sharp", Rahm roars.
Nap questions, "Look sharp? In what way?"

Circling the Wagons

"Okay gentlemen, we need to circle the wagon".
He stands to his full height and shakes his fist in the air,
"I mean we've got to pull together and fight the good fight", looking around the room he adds,
"The indians are restless, boys".
The only lady in the room looks a bit put off. The ever observant leader notices and attempts to
diffuse the comments from his number two.
"H-H-Hold-on folks, Rahm is simply speaking in metaphors". Cocking his head. "Or-or perhaps analogies". Now forcing a closed mouth grin and nodding his head. "He's being rhetorical".
Then motioning for him to sit, "Thanks Rahm".
Abruptly, the lady barks out, "Why is everyone so tense"? A glance left, then right,
"We're in control, they can't touch us, we have the power now"! Nearly shouting she seems to realize her excesses and in recompense she calmly coiffs the grey patch in her thick matte of hair.
"Than-thank you for that, Nap", interupts the chief. "Your exactly right, however. However, we do need to mine our phasology". Then looking down at the egg in his hand, "Yu, you really need to check with Rahm before speaking with the press". Then looking up pleasantly, "Appearance is everything, we don't want to disinfranchaise the entire radical half".
Jumping in, "Bam, bam, excuses me", standing up, a position he definately favors, "But we do want to divide and conquer", taking a dramatic pause, "we simply don't want to come across as divisive".
Nodding assuringly, "Rahm, that's right. That's it, exactly", now pitching to each person at the table, "it is all in the perception, remember that".

Puppy Love

The group sat around the oval table with long faces, simply focusing on the bowl of hard boiled eggs in the center. Their contemplation was shattered when the door opened suddenly held by the tall silverhaired man. He grinned, then winked like a steward greeting guest on the defunct Braniff Airlines. "Good morning Minyans! Baruch Habah!". As his smile widen the POTUS strode into the room with the same smile on his face.

He halted midway between the door and the oval table apparently taking in the group. His tense cheaks slowly dropped and his eyebrows knit. Glancing back at the taskmaster who was still holding the door knob, he cocked his head slightly and motioned toward the gathering. Taking his que, the obsequious doorman dropped his expression down to a decisive reserve and bellowed out "All Rise!".

The addle assemblage became alert, then unsure, then in a mitigating fashion they slowly rose. The High Muckamuck reforged his smile, lunged toward the table and the centerpiece, grabbing the top egg.
"Please...Please, help yourself. It's on me".