This short story is my tribute to everyone who earns their livelihood as a wordsmith in any capacity. It’s a bit niche, and I suspect not everyone will “get” it—but for those who do, I hope it resonates.
A Sign of the Times
The downtown business district of Metropolis was alive with the chaotic symphony of commerce. High-powered executives strutted like peacocks, their Bluetooth headsets chirping, while coffee carts churned out overpriced lattes for the bleary-eyed masses. Amidst the bustle, a man in a crisp three-piece suit stood on the corner, holding a cardboard sign:
“Will Write for Money.”
Passersby gave him a wide berth, their faces painted with a mix of disdain and thinly veiled envy. Writing was the last taboo. Sure, you could hire someone to optimize your cloud infrastructure or negotiate a hostile takeover, but to write? Only the desperate and the daring trafficked in such primal urges.
The Lady Approaches
The man adjusted his tie, his sign held high. He smirked as a sleek luxury car purred to a stop at the curb. Out stepped a woman in a tailored power suit, her stiletto heels clicking on the pavement like a countdown to detonation.
She sized him up with a glance that could melt ice caps. “What are you offering?” she purred, her tone equal parts flirtation and challenge.
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What are you in the market for?” He let his gaze linger just long enough to make her wonder if it was her or her wallet he found more enticing.
A Scandalous Proposal
She took a step closer, her perfume wafting between them, an intoxicating mix of ambition and jasmine. “Anything that moves me. In a good way.”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “Marketing plans. PR campaigns. Content strategy. I do it all, girl. Guaranteed to your liking.”
She gasped, her perfectly manicured hand clutching her chest in mock swoon. “Ooh, you sure know how to excite a lady. Let’s go back to my place and flesh out something a little more solid between us.”
He straightened his lapel, his grin growing wicked. “There’s a co-location outlet right around the corner. I’ve got a monthly plan. It’s closer. And guaranteed access.”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m getting so weak in the knees just thinking about it.”
The Forbidden Workspace
They walked off side by side, their whispered conversation brimming with innuendo about font pairings and synergistic SEO strategies. Pedestrians averted their eyes, pretending not to notice the raw audacity of two literate people openly conspiring in the daylight.
They ducked into the dingy co-working space—a dimly lit den of creativity hidden behind a dry cleaner’s. Inside, others like them hunched over laptops, their faces lit by the illicit glow of word processors. One woman gasped as her companion whispered something about Oxford commas. A man in the corner furiously typed out a blog post, sweat beading on his brow as if he were committing the act in public.
An Exchange of Words
The well-dressed duo claimed a corner booth. She slid a pen and notebook across the table. “Let’s see what you’ve got, big guy.”
He chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. “You’re gonna love this.”
As he began to scribble, she leaned closer, her breath hitching with anticipation. “You’re handwriting it?”
He looked up, his eyes blazing with defiance. “The rawness of ink, baby. It’s how I roll.”
Closing the Deal
Outside, the city continued its march, oblivious to the unspeakable happening in that little room. Inside, forbidden words flowed. They sketched out a content calendar so provocative it could bring an algorithm to its knees.
When they finally stepped back into the sunlight, she handed him a wad of cash. “You’re worth every cent.”
He tucked the bills into his pocket, tipping an imaginary hat. “And you, darling, have excellent taste.”
As they walked off, her voice floated back to him, playful and teasing. “Next time, we’re doing long-form.”
He grinned, the city stretching out before him like a blank page. Writing was dangerous, sure. But for those who dared? Oh, the stories they could tell.
