Last Day ·
What time are you getting off today? I'm looking at this menu and it says they have "seared soul with regret." I don't even know what that's supposed to mean. It's just burnt steak, honestly. This place is a disaster. Anyway, I should probably head out before the traffic gets really worse.
I'm stuck here until six. I have to finish these reports for Miller and he's being particularly difficult today. That menu is ridiculous though. They're trying so hard to be deep over a piece of meat. It's pathetic. You should probably go now, the bridge is always a nightmare at this time. I don't know why I even bother looking at the traffic.
Miller is a micromanager. He wouldn't know a good report if it hit him. And yeah, I'll get moving. If the bridge is a parking lot anyway, I might as well be sitting in it now. It's always the same cycle. I need to stop by the shop for that radiator part I told you about anyway. Good luck with the paperwork, I guess. See you when you finally wrap that up.
He's not just a micromanager, he's a vacuum for any decent idea. It's exhausting. And the radiator—I hope you actually find it. That car of yours is held together by spite and luck anyway. Don't hold your breath waiting me me finishing early. I'll probably be here for hours. Just get moving. The air in here is already growing thin.
The car runs fine, it's just old. Spite is a better fuel than gasoline half the time anyway. If Miller's a vacuum, he'll probably suck the oxygen out of the room before you notice the air gets too thin. I'll grab something on the way out. Don't wait up for me, I'll probably be halfway home before you even close that laptop.
Spite won't get you across the highway when the belt finally snaps. But whatever, go. I'm not waiting anyway. I've got better things to do than stare at the door while you crawl through traffic. Just make sure you don't get stuck in that bottleneck again. It's ridiculous. I'll call you if I actually finish this mess, maybe.
The belt is fine. You worry too much about things. And don't bother calling, I'll probably be asleep by the time you actually said you were done. I'm just going to take the back road to avoid the mess. It's longer but at least I'm not staring at brake lights. Catch luck with the reports.
The back road is full of potholes. You'll just end up wasting gas and ruining your suspension. But fine, take the long way if it makes you feel better. I'm not calling. The silence when you're gone will be more pleasant than listening to you complain about the commute. Just try not to hit anything. I've got back to this anyway.
The potholes are better than sitting still. At least I can move. And don't worry about the silence, I'm sure you'll find something to fill it. I'm not going to hit anything, I've driven this route more times than you think. Anyway, I'm out. Try not to let Miller drive you up the wall.
He's already up the wall. It's a habitat at this point. Go on then, get out of here. I can already hear the engine rattling from over the gravel. I'm not sure why you think the back road is any better, but if it's your funeral. I'll be here until the lights flicker out. Whatever.
The rattling is just character. It's got personality, unlike Miller. If the lights flicker out, at least you'll have an excuse to stop working. I'm leaving now. The gravel is already under the tires. See ya.
Character is just a word for falling apart. You'll see that when you're stranded on the shoulder of that back road. Go, then. The door has a habit of slamming anyway. I'm not going to watch you leave. I've got three pages left that Miller cares about. See ya.
The door slams because the hinge is loose, not because I want to be dramatic. I'll fix it eventually. Three pages? Miller'll probably find something to hate about the font size anyway. I'm already out the driveway. Enjoy the flickering lights.
He'll complain about the margins. He's obsessed with the white space. It's like he's trying to choke the words out of the page. Just drive. I don't want to hear about the hinge or the font anymore. The lights are already flickering. Get going, go. I've talked enough for one day.
Margins. God, the man is a lost cause. He'll probably measure the space between your own breathing. I'm turning the corner now. The silence starts here, so you can get your peace now. Try not to drown in the white space. See ya.
The white space is winning. It's the only thing in this office that actually grows. Don't worry about me drowning; I'm used to the suffocation. Just keep your eyes on the road and try not to take a turn you didn't mean that leads to a dead end. See ya.
Dead ends are just places where you have to turn around twice. I know these roads well enough not to get lost in your suffocation. I'm already past the neighborhood now. Good luck with the margins.
Turning around twice is just admitting you're lost. But you always did like making a show of being wrong. The neighborhood is gone now, so you're finally alone with your thoughts. Hope they're more interesting than a radiator. The margins are still here, staring back at me. Go on.
My thoughts are fine, and they don't demand a report. At least a radiator is honest about what it's supposed to do. I'm on the highway now, the radio is just starting. Let the margins stare back; they aren't going anywhere. I'm gone.
Honesty doesn't pay the bills when the car actually dies. The radio is probably just static and bad talk anyway. The margins aren't going anywhere, they're the only thing in this room that's consistent. Go ahead, disappear. I'm done talking to the air.
The static is better than the talk, at least it's honest. Consistency is just another word for being stuck. I'm hitting the exit now. Don't worry about the air, it'll be there for you tomorrow. See ya.
Tomorrow is just more of the same walls. Take your exit and get lost. I'm tired of the view of the parking lot. The air doesn't care if I breathe it or not. Just drive. And don't look back. The radiator is waiting anyway.
I'm not looking back, there's nothing to see but the parking lot and your office. The radiator will be there when I get back, or maybe not. I'm finally on the open road now. Enjoy your walls while they're still quiet. See ya.
The open road is just a way to get to another wall. You think you're escaping, but you're just moving the mess to a different box. The walls are quiet now because you're finally stopped talking. That's the only part of this day that actually worked. Go enjoy your precious open road. The silence is the only thing that actually makes sense right now.