In the trench and down the gutter.

Yeah, that’s probably where I’m heading, because I’m pooped and is under so many forms of lethargy (you have dog-tired, and omg-I’m fucked, and also damn, I’m dead?) that I’m feeling intricately like a plastic bag with no things in it.

I would sit here and wonder - hmm, ponder, - about the decidedly profound cruelty one boss could exact on his handful of interns, but I think I’m beyond that in the sense that everything is probably said and done and that interns are invariably, also inevitably, meant to be pushed around like they’re rock bottom in the hierarchy chart.

(Hey hey, we are rock bottom; even the janitor gets paid more.)

So I would go the simple way of saying, “Fuck you, work, and everything about it,” and they say simple sentences tell enough.