A Quiet Life

“Hey, Denton, you okay?”

“Is he dead?”

“Nah, look. His eye is twitching.”

“Anybody see what happened to Denton? Anybody? Hello? Anyone awake in here?”

“No point asking the cubicle crew—bunch of half-blind mice. You don’t think he’s doing drugs, do you?”

“Nope. He can’t stand the stuff. Besides he says intoxication is acutely dangerous for anyone around him.”

“Really? Denton? I don’t think I’ve heard him even raise his voice since I started in February.”

“Denton. Denton. Hello. Anyone home. Shoot, well yeah, I guess you never met old Denton. He quieted down a little before you got here, stopped…you know, stopped everything.”

“Everything? Wait, did he try and talk just then?”

“Mmm, no, I think that was a burp or a hiccup maybe. And yeah, everything—yelling, swearing, gossiping, throwing stuff, hitting the computer, upending the water cooler…all the stuff.”

“Oh, that’s not good. He’s been stuffing for what… ten months now? Every bit of rage.”

“Sounds bad.”

“Hell yeah.”

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