Work: I'm here for the duration.

I live in Pacifica, a suburb of San Francisco.
My residence is inside an apartment complex
that was built to be purposely not humble.
Its guts house the soon-to-be oppressor classes
of the soon-to-become proletarian society.
I don't really care anymore about all that.

I work as a clerk for a not-too-major bank.
I ride bay area rapid transit to work;
my place of employment is in downtown San Francisco.
I would like to say that I stare out of windows,
suffering suffered thoughts, but there is nothing to look at.
So I look to see what people are reading.

I've forgotten the titles as well as the people.
All I can remember is that there are Chicanos, Asians, Filipinos,
and us whites: I like the Filipinos.
Depending on your existential magic, they are either
the peak or sinkhole of humanity.
They are a blend of many races.

Besides all this, I really don't know.
I would like to be liberated.
If anything approaches an obsession with me now, it
;fkfgkfitujcjmvmfuutbfhgjrjhb bxur jm j m yc,ciejgnvkwiuth

There is less and less that concerns me these days.
There are very few things that preoccupy my thoughts.
It is almost as if I am waiting for an obsession.