A shift of protocol is happening at work. The office grows, rather the people in the office grow. I attempt to go to my desk and it's not there. My computer is gone. All of the creative department is missing. I walk around the building looking for them, one of the designers is getting food at a food cart. She yells at me about losing her job, then blames me for it. She's someone I used to work with but no longer work with. I question my work, all the work I've ever done, ever will do.
I'm on a work trip in NYC, and I'm staying in Williamsburg on Metropolitan avenue just passed the BQE in a Cuban guest house and restaurant. It's seedy, but meals are included. When dinner comes they tell me I can piss in my seat. I do this while watching customers come in and out. Piss hits the floor. My food is served.
Our office is inside a hotel room. My coworkers desks are backlit by windows. My friend C walks into the room and we go over some work I'm doing for her over large cellphones. The kind with long antenna from Miami vice. She sits next to me, but we talk on phones. I'm frustrated by changes she's made and don't look her in the eyes. We hang up our phones and stand. I introduce my friend to coworkers, but suddenly forget one of their names. I know it's two syllables. I ask her to tell me what it is, but she doesn't. I feel guilty about forgetting her name. They whisper behind my back.
