Well, a cubicle, anyway. It feels estrictive. I can hear the hum of the computer and the clack of the keys and, if I stop and listen very closely, I can almost here the sound of blood rushing through my ears (a dull little whoosh as the ol’ ticker pushes the red stuff around the track, yet again).
How many more hearbeats until I die, I wonder? But, of course, that is unknowable (at least until its too late… ha ha ha - death’s little joke on all of us: Death sits like an old fortune teller lady with a thick, rubbery lips, bad blonde hair and a ridiculously thick accent… blah blah blah