Neurotypical Day

Today, I count the minutes until my shift ends. No drug can compare to the addiction of hate for the 9 - 5. Vanilla melodies drown out the noise at the vending machine that is always occupied. I've learned to fool the masses into believing I can relate to any number of subjects that are foreign to me. If I stare long enough they may believe I have no secret to keep. Maybe not. Knock, knock. Who's there? Not my attention, Dennis.