THE LADY OF RED LIGHT DISTRICT
Ahmad rushed toward the newspaper office , trying to avoid the stinging , dust-filled wind that seemed getting stronger with every step . It was a brief walk from the parking lot . By the time he reached the office , the other staff journalists , two women and five men , were already tucked into their cubicles like caged rats . Their eyes glued to computer screens .
The editor ' s office was situated in the center of the large room , the employee desks circling it like the planets of the solar system .
Ahmad slid behind his desk . His status as a trainee journalist placed him in view of Devan ’ s office — the editor , and a man Ahmad considered a snake .
Devan was the one person Ahmad didn ' t want to see . He buried himself in his work , hoping he could avoid more of Devan ’ s “ special assignments ,” which always fell to him . But no such luck .
“ Ahmad !” Devan stood over him , a steaming tea cup in his hands . “ Yes , sir ?”
“ Let ' s have a cup of tea , shall we ?”
Ahmad cringed and sagged against the back of his chair . Devan expected him to ghostwrite another article . That ' s what having tea really meant .
Devan took an unwary sip and jerked the cup away from his mouth . “ Ow . Maybe not this tea ,” he said , wrinkling his nose .
The glow of Ahmad ' s computer screen beckoned , helping him masks his rolling eyes and kept him from voicing his thoughts ." Yeah , why don ’ t you take your tea and get the hell out of my face ?
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