The coffee machine sounds like an angry giant, that growls at me for waking it from its sleep. I shudder, but the cup I keep, under it, is filled with the bitter tears that I drink. I like to think of these tears as tears of regret that a beast cries when it is pulled from its natural habitat and put under artificial lights and behind bars. It misses the time of 7 PM, when the sun is just sinking under the horizon and the wind carries the smell of ghosts with it. This is the time when memories are frozen in their cubicles and dreams are shattered with the demand of another status report. All colored and highlighted in .xls format.
The coffee machine does not care. Maybe what I mistook for tears, is just shit that it gives about the world, and Excel sheets in general.
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Trying something different, this will be in some parts.
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