I want to lie on the grass in the sun

The radio blares love and hurt to a room where everyone talks only of ancillary revenue.

It's a room that makes me care about the stupidest shit.

Sometimes I open my mouth and a sentence with the word liaise comes out and it won't go back in.

Sometimes I close my mouth and grope a spreadsheet for one or seven hours.

I spend the day around people who care deeply about ancillary revenue.

Everyone is so bloody insecure because everyone is so bloody insincere.

The whole thing is ridiculous and everyone pretends it isn't.




I'm on a train