PyroBook - 2005
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I wiped my eyes and kissed her. She seemed surprised—no—astonished. She pulled back and looked at me, and for a second I couldn’t decide whether she was going to slap me or call the vice squad. Instead, she kissed me. It wasn’t the sneaky guerrilla kiss I’d planted on her either, but more of a long-term occupation-army kiss, one that knew it was welcome and would stick around for as long as needed, put up barracks, build roads, and buttress the economy.
This morning when I got here at a quarter to seven, I ran into Katie Fryer in the beanery. I knew there were women working in the station, but I didn’t expect a giant. She’s six-three or –four, and I hate to think how much she weighs. After she left this morning, I heard a couple of men on our shift making jokes about her breast. My guess is they’ve been making those same jokes the entire eight years she’s been here. — “Listen,” she whispered. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before the night watch opens that door, so I’m going to fill you in. This is a man’s world, but you can fit in if take into account a few basics. The first thing you have to remember is that you’re not a man. I know it sounds moronic, but we’ve had women here who thought the y had to undress in front of men. Thought they had to curse like men. Always keep your dignity. The second thing—they sent you here to fire you.”
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