Red Light District

It's like an evil eye... one that speaks only the language of ominous foreboding. It laughs at me in its sinister way. It stares menacingly not only at myself, but at all who dare to come close, to try and push it's button. The bright light glares, taunting me. My palate is threatened. My afternoon a wash of disappointment. The idea of wrapping myself in the fetal position in the middle of the break room crosses my mind. My very productivity stands on the brink of disaster. It is the intent of the Soup Nazi. No diet for you!

It is the red eye of vacancy.

It is the signal of distress.

It is the emptiness of ddp.

For this Red Light District, the message is clear -- there is no Diet Dr. Pepper left in the vending machine.