The incesent yelling didn't typically phase anyone dumb enough to be slapping away behind three walls of four foot steel and clothe. Someone must have left a window open overnight as the fog that normally clung to the walls, and padded the air was no longer a deadstop for the overwhelming downslide of the last few weeks.
Being the level headed prizefuck that Josh was, the increasing rate of colorless volume that usually fell victim to his booming phone voice and his jackhammering keystrokes were bleeding through. It's difficult to ignore something when it has made itself comfortable on the side of your inner ear...
Josh pretended to like art. He had to in order to maintain that special something that the tasteless army ants of the office wanted a bite of. Right now, the back of his eyes were etched and stained permanent. Sex never fell under: Offensive for Josh, but on display for his eyes only was now a shit he couldn't kick away. He hated the shotty sidewalk patch jobs...Is this what's it like to be fucked??
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