I spent most of the day at work at someone else’s station. There is nothing so utterly soul sucking as working at a station without your stuff surrounding you. Instead, it’s pix of some guy’s wife, children, and grandchildren; his foreign knick knacks; and–when I log onto his computer–a generic profile. I might as well be twirling a Subway or Togo sign out on the street.
Back Up Day
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