It’s that sickly yellow-grey, like a nicotine stain. Those old casings at the office are making me want to quit. It's like the material just gave up halfway through, stopped caring about looking new. People call it 'vintage' but it's just decaying. I saw a bin full of them today and it looked like dead teeth. It's pathetic. Why do we keep keeping this shit?
It's not vintage, Rafe. It's cheap resin. People love the rot because they're lazy. Throw them out. My desk smells like wet cardboard from that radiator anyway.
The radiator's leaking again. I told the landlord three weeks ago but he just grunted and walked away. It's the same rot as the plastic. If people actually fixed things, the whole building wouldn't have collapsed by now. But no, they just sit in the mess making excuses for why everything's falling apart. It's exhausting, honestly. We're all just surrounded by things that were never meant to last—
—meant to last a season. Everything is disposable now. The landlord doesn't mind the mold as long as the check clears. Put a bucket under it and stop complaining. It's pathetic to listen.
Oh, fuck off. You think I haven't put a bucket there? The floor is warped now. I'm not saying it sucks, I'm literally having to dump it every five minutes. It's the same lazy attitude with everything. People just let the world degrade until the ceiling gives in. It's pathetic to just stand there shivering in the damp instead actually—
actually moving. You'd rather be a martyr. The ceiling isn't falling today. Just move out. I'm tired of hearing about your water damage in the hallway.
Move where? To another dump with the same shitty walls and the same smell? It's easy for you to say that. You aren't the one scrubbing the floor or watching the slow-motion erosion. I'm not being a martyr, I'm being the only one who notices the ship is sinking. But go ahead, keep ignoring the water until it hits your ankles.
The ship is already gone, Rafe. You're just obsessed with the rust. I'm not scrubbing your floor. Just buy a bigger bucket or drown. It's exhausting.
Typical. Always have the exit strategy the second things get heavy. "Drown," right? Is that your brilliant advice? You'd watch the whole block burn if it meant you didn't have to smell the smoke. It's not the rust I'm obsessed with, it's the fact that everyone else is just waiting for the fire to start without even lifting a finger.
The fire is already started. You're just standing in the doorway holding a match. I'm not watching the block burn. I'm just trying to breathe. Stop being so dramatic.
Dramatic? I'm the one standing in the smoke while you're pretending the air isn't gone. You think you're special by just "trying to breathe"? The air is thick with your bullshit and you're going to choke regardless. I'd rather burn the place down just to spite the silence. At least the fire would be warm for a second.
You wouldn't burn anything. You'd just watch and complain. You want the heat because you're cold. It's pathetic. I'm going for coffee.
Go then. Get your overpriced bean water and pretend the world isn't rotting right under your feet. Don't come back complaining when the shop is closed or the cup is cold. I'll be here watching the water line climb the baseboard. It's the only thing in this city that's actually moving forward.
The water isn't moving forward, it's pooling. Stay with your baseboards. I'll be at the place on the corner. Don't expect me to be back.
Fine. Leave. The door doesn't even latch right anyway, so don't bother with the lock. I'll be here when you realize the corner shop is just as miserable as this hallway. Enjoy your escape. I hope the coffee is worth the walk.
The lock is fine. You just pull it wrong for years. The coffee is better than this conversation. Sit in the dark. I'm done here for today.
The lock is fine, you're too lazy to learn how it works. Go, sit in the light and distract yourself. I'll be fine in the dark; at least I won't see the mold growing. Don't expect me to be waiting when you get back.
I didn't expect anything. You'll always be here anyway. The mold is the only thing that actually listens to you. Enjoy the silence.
The mold doesn't talk back, that's why I like it. It doesn't pretend to have anything to say. It just grows. Go on, then. The silence is better than your constant whining anyway. I've had enough of you for one day.
You're the one who won't stop talking. The mold has more manners. Talk to the walls. I'm leaving.
Then leave. The door's right there. The walls have heard enough of you anyway without ever actually finishing a sentence. Go find someone else to tolerate while the floor finally swallows itself. I'm done with the lecture. Just close the door on your way out.
I'll close it. It's the only peace you'll get today. Good luck with the floor. Try not to sink.
Don't worry about me. I've been treading water since you were born. Just make sure you don't trip on the threshold on the way out; I'd hate for you to have to come back for help. See you whenever the nightmare ends.
The nightmare never ends, Rafe. It just gets quieter. I won't trip. See you when the water reaches your chin.
Yeah, right. By the time it reaches my chin, you'll be long gone, hiding in some place where the walls don't sweat. Just get out. The draft is already making me cold enough without your commentary.
The draft is because the window is open. Put a sweater on. I'm out. Don't call me when the pipes burst.
The window is shut, I don't need the rain coming in. And I don't need a sweater, I'm used to the chill. If the pipes burst, I'll just let the flood take the rest. Go on then. The air is getting thinner than your patience..
The air is thin because you're sucking all the oxygen. It's pathetic. I'm gone now. Stay in the cold.