Alone. At last? Or still?
The rush of Freon frozen air contracts my skin and pulls me closer to the point of aggravation.
The manufactured tree sap of tires crumbles the gravel, penetrating the rice paper thin and permeable windows. That fiendish fridge keeps on ticking, or buzzing, or digesting the left overs that I forgot weeks ago...
The manufactured tree sap of tires crumbles the gravel, penetrating the rice paper thin and permeable windows. That fiendish fridge keeps on ticking, or buzzing, or digesting the left overs that I forgot weeks ago...
Sure the side of the room inhabited by another creature of this so-called academic land isn't there, but these contraptions of capitalism and convenience drive me along a winding path that has yet to be paved.
Bumpy, loud and unpleasant. I want to work in a place that is quiet by design not by happenstance or occasion. The longer I'm distracted from my work, longer my eye sockets dry like the Kalahari from these damned pixels.
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