People you hardly know feel sorry for you.

So we pay some lady to sweep into the office every couple of weeks and water the plants. She smells like roses, but this is irrelevant. She is always chipper and, if you’re not hunched over your desk slaving (which I always am), she talks to you whilst she prunes and waters shit. One of her favorite attorneys recently left and, while she was upset and would miss the dude, she understood the desire to leave; noting to a friend, “you all seem so stressed and down all the time.”

THE LADY WHO WATERS PLANTS FEELS BADLY FOR ME. But what the hell. Sometimes *I* feel badly for me. So I’ll take the pity…along with the booze I use to wash it down.

 

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