Thousand: Six Hundred Forty

cranks up the noise. “I am so miserable. I am always so miserable. I have been condemned to be miserable for all eternity.” All fucking eternity. The girl sighs. Maybe that’s the job description, that’s the help wanted ad they answer. Seeking Persons All Varieties of Unhappy to Stand in White Rooms and Complain. Is the pay good? Aren’t they animatronics or something? They don’t really seem human. But what they say, yeah, that’s familiar. Your mother, that boyfriend who turned out to be as fun as quicksand, those days you couldn’t get out of bed. You’ve heard those words.