Midnight Shift

I sit working away at my desk, attempting to make it to the end of the day—er, night. Whatever it’s called here. It doesn’t really matter to me.

I look up for a brief moment and watch several coworkers yawn wide and look around to see who it triggers. I don’t understand why they do this. Seems awful primitive. Their eyes always rest on me. I’ve got no idea why.

I allow my eyes to drift back to the screen and continue working, whatever work there is to be done at this hour. Then again, this hour is like any other hour, isn’t it? There’s always more things coming in, more things to do. I get off at 4. God, I hate this place. It’s so stuffy.

I look up again to notice another coworker fallen at his keyboard. He looks dead. No, his chest is moving. What’s that called? Ah, yes. Sleep.

I allow myself to turn my head, wondering what other people are doing. I see several typing at half their normal speed, while I resume my usual 90.

Yes, indeed. Humans are strange.

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