Glass ceilings.
Are made of glass.
The shards mere feathers.
His shiny suit strained with superhuman sass.
Savvy he spoke in his stolen smart phone.
Swaggering with the strength of the blag.
His accent lucid with quicksilver half truths.
Convincing in the extreme.
He could feel the caller succumb to smiling.
He'd won.
Looking through the glass he blessed his cheap shoes and lady luck.
Ceiling's were for keeping the rain out, not him.

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