This was my old office. After I moved out a mysterious filing cabinet appeared overnight. Then disappeared, and everybody pretended nothing was the matter.
Night Whispers in the evening hours on the front porch before the deep still rolls in like a fog preceded by a pause of deathly quiet when the second awakening arrives resurrection at the ending of day the young darkness is alive yet again alive yet again with cooing whispers filtered sounds of people conversation sing song buzz of nocturnal insect life secret rustlings at the very edge of light
America Has Talent while the atomic clocks tick off the seconds of our life we chose to dwell where everyone is typecast as borderline personalities drones of corrupted devolution in the kingdom of banal living on subsistence entertainment of big screen curiosities with no plot only artificial drama convoluted contraptions conceived with hysterical over reaction populated with famous people you never heard of before consuming preening personalities screeching senseless banter shallow facilitating some contrived contest requiring feats of strength or some other meaningless trivial monkey shine of minor note
