Here I sit in my cubicle, reading through destructive literature.
Counting the minutes tick away until 2 dongs and I don't have to think about that interview anymore for the day. Feel the stripes of sunlight on my hand tempting me to warmth, in this staged sub-zero chamber.
Pulled up the blinds to wash myself in tepidity. And what do I see? Cracks of the golfer's paradise enshrouded by bamboos.
Ever wonder how lots of bamboo in sunlight tend to resemble a large patch of marijuana?
Copious amounts of ganja waiting to be consumed and here I sit in my cubicle reading through destructive material.
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