“…god, I’m so sick of all these weirdos in kooky glasses navel gazing, sending these incomprehensible emails with a bunch of words they’ve made up,” the artist overheard one of the city employees saying as she mazed her way through the cubicles to the elevator. “Even this one, like this is the most coherent we’ve gotten so far, but listen to it.” The employee put on a puffed-up pompous voice: “‘The basis of my thinking has not changed, but the very thinking has evolved and my means of expression have followed on.’viii Like, seriously? I was just asking if she had a sense of when she could come talk to the contractor.”
“I don’t think they understand what they’re saying half the time either, honestly,” a coworker responded. The artist feigned a cough and they remained unconcerned.
The elevator opened, she stepped on, inattentive, taking it up when she meant to go down.
