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.
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