The Man in my Kitchen

There is a man in my kitchen. Or something like a man, or perhaps something like the shadow of a man. I can’t ever see him clearly, but he’s there, tucked neatly between the humming refrigerator and crumb-covered counter. He is always catching my eye; when I walk down the hallway, when I cross the…

Morning Spat

These are not productive days. These are the days that I sit in my cubicle, mindlessly typing shitty, witty one-liners for cheap plastic products. Occasionally, between my descriptive bullet points, I wonder what going crazy feels like. I switch to my “Desk Jams” playlist, go to track 16, and imagine my brains being blown out…