Pull out now

“Confession time!” You exclaim in a false positive tone. “I’m not really Esmé Deschamps or anything like that. I’m really Daphne Tilla, and I’m trying to write about lactation and hucows.”

The secretary looks at you bewildered. “Are you fucking with me?” She inquires.

“No ma’am. Now would you be able to let me speak with someone in a managerial role about the company?”

She’ll shocked, she slowly nods. You quickly pull your clothes back on and she leads you farther down the hall. You fall in place behind her. She leads you to a large spruce door and opens it. She walks inside and beckons you to follow suit. You slide into the room and see a large, study like office, as the secretary speaks to a tall, thin, bookish man behind his ornate desk. Many plaques, medals, certificates, and awards decorate the room. Just above him on the wall behind his desk, you see a picture of a red headed woman with pigtails, naked on her hands and knees, sporting enormous breasts. Above the picture reads ‘Buttercup Creamy Acres’ and beneath reads ‘Highest International Milk Yield 2016’. As you look around at all of the oohs and ahhs of the office, the slender man approaches you. He thrusts out his hand and you shake it.

“Pleasure meetin’ ya, darlin! I hear you plannin’ on writin’ a book ‘bout ‘dis ‘ere islan’! Why, I’d be delighted to lend ya a hand on that there project o’ yours! Lemme give ya a tour!”

You wonder where this man is from, as his southern U.S. accent is very thick. A moment later, as if reading your mind, he answers.

“I was born down in da Deep South! Yessir! Biloxi was my birthplace. Ya know Biloxi, donchu? It’s in Mississippi. Anywho, my parents packed us up and sent us east o’er to Birmingham when I was 8. Ya gotta know Birmingham. Alabama. All of that black people rights stuff. I read a book ‘bout dat town in 6th grade. Watsons something Birmingham. Good book. Anywho, let’s start in here, how ‘bout it, darlin?”

He opens a door and the two of you step inside.