Treighton Mauldin

The following is fiction

ugh work; it truly is the curse of the drinking class

Boredom sets in quick

With the taste of the weekend

Wet on my lips

 

(The smell of the office

Is sickening)

 

On my fourth cup of coffee

I’m not tired anymore

But it helps fight

The craving for ass, and alcohol,

And inspiration

 

The fluorescent lights

Are blinding

The quiet is suffocating

And the click-clack of the keyboards

A ten pound sledge to my nerves

 

Fuck this place

I’m getting beer

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