Under the Hum of Fluorescent Lights

The office is a labyrinth of grey cubicles, where the sun is a theoretical concept discussed in break rooms.

There is a specific frequency to the hum of these lights. It vibrates in the teeth, a constant reminder of the electricity being consumed to sustain this stasis.

Documents are moved from one folder to another. Meaning is manufactured in spreadsheets. The fluorescent glow bleaches the soul until everything is the same shade of beige.