† SINISTER PUBLICATIONS†

So there I am, wasting away at work with nothing to do. I mean, sure—I could find something menial like sorting papers, shredding the nasty ones, or reading up on post orders and all that jazz. But am I gonna? Oh hell no. Not today buddy.

Today, I’ll do my choreS and then just drift into night dreaming, as the ghosts come and go through and thorough.

A while back, I sat through a safety course—mandated by the corporate overlords. It was called The Psychology of Safety. Not bad, honestly. But the funny part? The dudes teaching it didn’t really know much about safety. That set a precedent. Made me think: I could do this too. And years ago, I wanted to. But now? Naw. I just want to chill.

Like good old Franklin, I gotta make it look like I’m super busy—even though I’m just vibing in the shadows, letting the hours pass like smoke in the wind.

Just finished munching on my fries. Next up: Combo 1 Whataburger, nothing fancy—just a Coke. I never really deviate from the sinning. It’s always Coke, like 98% of the time. Other flavors? Bland. Fake. You feel me?

I stick to the simple one-patty burger. That way, you taste everything—the veggies, the mustard, the pickles. Doubles and triples? Nah, they drown the flavor in grease. I like to keep it real.

So yeah, I’m super chill. Still doing the small tasks. Radio’s blasting oldie rock. What more could I ask for?

That’s a tough one. Because if I overthink it, I start getting that itch—to learn something new, apply for a bigger and badder position. Probably what everyone does. But not me.

I just want to chill. Think about the good ol’ times. Let the day roll by like a slow song on vinyl.