On the way into my job building, I spied a wig by a bush. Full of twigs, a fake nail, and ratted all to hell. Stopping, I smoked & prepared, I examined it up close. Toeing it around, I imagined myself in it, dancing. That's when a security guard intervened for a match. Lighting up, then exhaling, he asked if it was mine. I laughed out loud before stating nothing here was mine. Instantly, I knew whoever wore it slept inside the bush. Looking around before going in, I searched for its match. Finding no one, I went in for what was sure to be hell. Secretary Glib, sighs, keeping time to her nail's dancing. Seated while flipping mag ads, I knew this would be close. A loudspeaker informs her, "be sure he's shaved close" Caring as much as her cup, which reads "Where's mine?" She sends me in with a flick of a hand no longer dancing. I notice her nail color, it's like the one by the wig bush, but since I'm at the door, I blow it off to earn my hell. We all have our equal good & evil prizes in life to match. I enter the plush boardroom praying my suit & tie match. They fucking don't, and in fact, they're not even close. Deaf & silent, I read lips that state, "You look like hell" Portfolios, and jelly donuts, next to a box labeled mine. There's his assistant, all smirks with a 70's porno bush. A fact I can now claim from when we went mattress dancing. An earfull of cutbacks before I'm fired by Mr. Lap Dancing. Holding my career box, I think, that wasn't a fair match. So I make my way back out into the world of the wig bush. The wig's gone as I realize that I've never been so close to remotely understanding their needy love, or yet, mine. If heaven's a 9-5, I should just get comfortable in hell. The Secretary emerges to invite me back to her own hell. She claims that there is finger foods, and sleep dancing. Hand in hand, we stroll to see if hers is better'n mine. It is, there are tons of wigs and heads that don't match. Aghast, I'm resting more now knowing mine's not even close. Because she's more than headless wigs inside of a wig bush. It's nice to know that her hell's a thing I can not match. After trying on wigs and square dancing we become close. A love to call my own with a great job by her own wig bush.