I'm not trying to sound like a sad internet-person, but the break room at my work is terribly depressing. The paint is smeared with the ink off of people's hands, there's chipped paint everywhere, the air permanently smells like the smelliest Indian food you've ever smelled and I think the Men's washroom gets cleaned once a week or less.
I shit you not.
I shit you not.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 345 B
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