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lung chalk

The air is blue-green and chalky over the industrial park. I applied for a position in invisible industries. I sit in the lobby and listen to wind blowing through the air ducts. The receptionist hides behind her computer. I wish I was human. Failure and incompetence leak from every opening and stain my resume.

Outside I suck the metallic air and cross the half-empty parking lot. The biggest companies always have the emptiest parking lots.

I dug a little hole for myself in this world. I drink poison in a dirty kitchen. The light bulbs, too, are full of bright poison. It's fun to poison myself on a blue-green afternoon in the aftermath of empty parking lots. I can still smell the damp carpets of the office towers. Or maybe that is the smell of poison rising inside me.

I'll put on my raincoat an hour before dusk and patrol my network of private toll roads. All the office towers in the distance are prettier than the stars.

All I ever wanted was something pretty to watch while dying.

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