Electric light, corner shadows, all lines and angles, boxes under the artificial ceiling, low hum and drone, air dry and cool, sparse, empty, no life able to last here - and yet here I am.
Monday morning, standing in the photocopier room, scanning HR files for archiving, work trousers and a blue shirt, newly-shaved, shoes in need of a shine, hours stretching away.
It could be raining or sunny outside - how would I know.
YOU ARE READING
At the Gym with Allen GinsbergRandom
"I really would like to stop working forever-never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I'm doing now-and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I'd like to keep l...