I feel you. The day was stagnant and eerie. Coalesced neurosis solidified into a desk. No longer was the wandering of yesterday, the fleeing from tread on tracks of knowledge. There was only time for delivery. Directness was celebrated and results obsessed over. It wasn’t their fault. Buildings glisten under shielded barriers and fruit flavored walls that warp smiles into winces or paralyzed smirks rendering them perverse in the land of locked chance, locked paints and locked wood - they cut the budget - they didn’t have it - swaying as a boat, as the violence of progression.