He has such a stupid look on his face, with that bulbous nose and ugly tooth.

“What do you mean you quit?”

“I quit, Wally. I’m done. It’s over.”

“Bullshit!”

“Seriously. I want out.”

Wally stares, takes a breath and stands from his chair. He walks around his desk and sits in front of me like a creepily-comforting, kid touching guidance counselor.

“Bonnie. Sweetie. Pumpkin-face. I don’t buy it for a second.”

I cross my arms and shake my head. “Buy it, man. I’m outta here. Enough’s enough.”

He sits up straight and lets the serious out. “Why?”

“Cuz what am I even doing here?”

“You’re serving the world, darlin’. You’re changing things. You’re inspiring minds.”

“I’m frying boys’ brains. I’m an aerobics instructor. I pump ‘em up so they can run in place. It’s nonsense. I’m a pusher.”

“But that’s the gig."

"So what!"

"And you're so good at it."

"Just cuz I'm good at something, it doesn't mean I gotta do it."

He smiles, "You're mystical, baby."

"Quit it."

"You're magical."

"Don't care."

"You got a way about you and you know it."

"I don't know shit."

"You got those fuckers wrapped around you like a feather boa. You're a master."

“Save it. I’m bored. I’m sad. I’m choking, ya know? It’s too much repetition. Again and again and again and again. Bonnie Bonnie Bonnie, inspire me, inspire me, inspire me. FUCK! I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ uninspired myself.”

Wally laughs and moves his hand through the air like he’s tracing the words on a marquee, “The Uninspired Muse. I can see it now.”

“Cram it, Wally.”

He laughs.

“I’m serious, man!”

“What about Frank Fisher? You done wonders with that mope.”

“I don’t wanna talk about Frank.”

“Got a screenplay out of him. I'd call it a success.”

"Almost."

"Kid’s goin’ places. I can feel it."

I watch the smug curve in his mouth and smell the sneezy air of the dumpy, dampy, danky, dark dungeon office that Inspicorp keeps for the drops offs and pick ups of all the seeds and shit. Basement of Billy Bloodbath's Bangdown Booby Bar. Bullshit joint. Scuzz-ville. Makes me wanna puke.

"Feel this," I say and remove the shiny little silver pin in the shape of a lyre from my lapel and hand it to him. “I’m turnin’ in my strings, cap’n."

"No way."

"And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He holds it in his palm and ponders like a pup. “No two weeks?”

I light a smoke and exhale. “Ha! You want two weeks?” and I flip both middle fingers. “Here are my two weeks!”

“You’re really burnin’ some bridges here ain’t ya, kiddo?”

I quickly stand and point the cigarette in his sloppy, Shar Pei, slush-face. “You bet your ass I am and you be sure to tell that fucker in the corner office to leave me be. I am no longer an employee of Inspicorp. I am no longer a muse. I am no longer a manipulative drug dealer.”

“They’re not drugs!”

Nonsense. “I am no longer working here. As far as anyone is concerned…I, am nothing.”

He laughs. “Bonnie…you are not—"

“Shut your fucking mouth!"

He laughs again.

“Don’t call me. Don’t say my name. Don’t even think of me. As soon as I walk out that door, I am forgotten.”

“That ass of yours sure ain’t gonna be easy to forget.”

I frustratingly grunt and sock him in the mouth. He clutches his face as blood squirts and drips between his fingers like a sputtering showerhead.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” he gurgles into the handful of red.

I reach into my bag and pull out the small, black, leather, zip-up case and toss it on the desk. “Take your stupid applicator and your stupid seeds and forget me!” I shout heading for the door.

“We ain’t forgetting shit, bitch!”

I pause in the doorway, resting my hand on the molding and turn back. “Then I’ll burn Inspicorp to the ground.”

He pulls his hand away from his mouth and reveals his newly cracked ugly front tooth and blood goatee. Improvement, I think. “You’re full of shit, girlie! You’ll be back.”

I take a long, final, badass drag from my cigarette and flick the butt into the dark corner. “I’m serious, Wally. Tell her to forget me. It’s in everybody’s best interest.”

“Bonnie, you walk out that door; your ass is fuckin’ toast!”

"Toast?" I giggle and shrug and turn away and walk through the doorway. “Stop drop and roll, Wally-boy.”

He turns to the corner and sees a stack of supply boxes have caught into a quickly growing fire. Bulbereno's happy little face burning like Bonanza.

“Bonnie, you nasty fuckin’ bi—"

I slam the door and climb the stairs that lead to the street. I pause on the sidewalk, pull out my pack, yank a fresh cig and light it. I look around, take a drag and tensely exhale.

"Here we go."

And I walk away as smoke crawls up the stairs and sirens scream in the far away.