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You collect yourself and stand up.  Mr. McAllister doesn't even look up to acknowledge that you are leaving.  You turn and walk out of the office and down the hall to the elevators and push the button, waiting for the doors to open.  You watch the numbers sequentially counting if mirroring your life at the present moment.  Your mind races with possibilities of where all the photographs could have possibly come from.  The doors to the elevator open and much to your relief, it is devoid of any discerning occupants.  You walk to your desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone and load the few useless personal belongings that you have into a cardboard box.  You hold it close to your chest as you walk through the aisles of prying eyes.  Some just stare, others snicker and a few lean to a neighbors ear and whisper.  It feels as though every pointing finger rips away a piece of your self respect and every echoing ridicule from behind you tears a bit from your soul.  Slut!  Whore!   Dirty Bitch!  The chides keep coming as you make your way to the door.   You cringe at the laughs and the cat calls that cry out from every corner of the office while you wait for the elevator doors to open....for the last time.  This time you aren't so fortunate as to find an empty elevator.  A couple of mistress/secretaries are standing leisurely in the elevator, leaning up against the mirrored walls.  You turn and face the 3rd floor for the last time and the last cat call fades away as the doors shut.  You hear the chatter begin immediately behind you.  Only making out a few crass words here and there.  The tears well up in your eyes, unable to keep your emotions at bay any longer.  You choke down an uneven breath, fighting the emminant break down.  The elevator doors open again and you make your way quickly across the foyer, trying not to allow your heels to click too loudly on the glimmering tile floor.  You finally reach the parking lot and rush to your car,  Even as you scamper across the asphalt you are assaulted by honks and rude gestures by a couple of cars driving out of the lot.  You quickly open the door and throw the box on the passengers seat, spilling most of the contents onto the floor as it flops sideways.  You drive home, in a sense of shock and bewilderment.  

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