Two strangers, a detective named Dominic Lorenzo and a artist, Robin Lewis, are being forced to work together to take down the 'Drug Lord' of New York during the crack epidemic of 1992. After he committed another one of his many murders, the police...
'Be good to yourself 'cause nobody else has the power to make you happy.' ~ George Michael
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"Shit." I cursed as I looked down at my wrist watch noticing that I was 20 minutes late for an important meeting at my job. First, I was late getting up this morning, then I tried on 5 different outfits before finally deciding on one, but after brewing my coffee, it splattered all over my pencil skirt, so I wasted another 10 minutes finding a clean skirt before leaving my house.
This is almost becoming the worst day of my life.
I rushed into the elevator before the double doors closed on me and pressed the 5 button before feeling my body feel weightless for a second.
I powered walked out of the elevator holding by files close to my chest, I stood in front of the cherry wood door before softly knocking on it. I heard a 'come in', I took a deep breath before entering the room full of people surrounded by a large glass table staring my way.
"Why are you late Ms.Lewis?" my boss, Mr.Stevenson questioned me as I tried to think of an answer. What was I gonna say, oh I'm sorry sir but I was to lazy to get up this morning and changed my outfit a thousand times and spilled a full cup of coffee on me like a cluck? Of course not.
"I was j-"
"I don't even care," he rudely cut me off, "just take a seat."
I prevented myself from rolling my eyes and sat down in a empty leather swivel chair trying to catch up on what they where discussing on.
I work at a art exhibit in North Manhattan as an art consultant. I just give advice on what should or shouldn't be in the galleries and provide my input on what and how people perceive art in this day and age.
"If you guys didn't know that as of lately, art galleries have been starting to get robbed or attempted in the New York area, mainly in East and North Manhattan. Supposedly, there's this drug gang looking for something that they really want at the galleries. So make sure your on the look out and call the police if you see someone suspicious around the day or night." a consultant that I didn't know spoke up and it caught my attention.
"Alrighty then, this meeting is over and the next one will probably be in a few weeks." Mr. Stevenson said before walking out of the room.
I finally rolled my eyes, standing up from my chair trying to make it past the people before the elevator got to full. I failed my mission as I saw the elevator was full of people that if one more person was to walk in there, the whole thing would fall.
I sighed as I walked towards an empty bench waiting for the next elevator to come.
Trust me, I love what I do but sometimes it gets so frustrating when I come here almost everyday of the week, on time, besides today, and put the work in but don't rewarded for it. I've been at the gallery for 2 years and been at the same place since then. Just last week I picked a portrait of a black woman with a golden crown on her head and it sold for 5 thousand dollars, and did I get credit for it? No. Do I know why? Nope.
