3:00 P.M. : I am slowly dying in my chair of leather.
3:01 P.M. : I slowly lift up my shoulders but they crumble back in defeat.
3:01 P.M. : I wait for another minute to pass so that I write the next sentence.
3:02 P.M. : I take off my left black converse.
3:03 P.M. : Everything feels tight today. I can feel my earphones stuck in my ears. I can feel the scarf around my neck. I feel my jeans around my legs. I feel me fingers hitting the keyboard keys. It’s not nice.
3:04 P.M. : Migraine, and a white sock and a pink basket and a black apple and a blue sketchbook and an alien mouse. where have you been all my life?
3:05 P.M. : There’s no point.
3:06 P.M. : I take off my earphones. I stare at my phone I have tossed at the very end of my desk. There’s no turning back.
3:07 P.M. : We’re like 2 hands of one person clenched together because we’re cold. It’ll get warm again – at some point – and the hands that we’re once clenched will be torn apart. But they always remain the only 2 hands the person’s ever got.
3:08 P.M. : I don’t like that my last sentence is longer than the others. I contemplate which words to delete to make it shorter.
3:09 P.M. : Maybe I should get to work. But I don’t care. Shouldn’t you care to actually work? like, isn’t it a prerequisite of working? not here. not now.
3:10 P.M. : I am slowly dying in my chair of leather.


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