honkzilla
Sable stretched as she walked into Ground Control before shift, she usually walked in early to hide in a corner to work on whatever poem or drabble was in her head bouncing around. It made the work day go easier when she didn't have that floating around and distracting her.
And it was a lot nicer to be able to jot it down while she could. She had her apron on the seat beside of her and she donned her classic black turtleneck and a pair of flares that passed as acceptable for work.
She was sitting there looking at the drabble on the page as she looked up when the door opened. She was keeping her eye on the time as well so she wasn't "late" for her shift. However, some of what she was writing demanded to be rhymed but the rhyme just wasn't coming out. Sable found that fairly annoying and needed someone who understood the intent of writing this to help her....