If only they could see my tattoos. PGP.

Black coffee. Black pants. Black laptop. Black pen. Black soul. PGP.

So what you’re to telling me is that eating leftover Chipotle in bed on a Friday night isn’t turning up? PGP.

I haven’t spoken out loud to a single actual person today. PGP.

Access to the requested site has been restricted due to its contents. PGP.

Furiously typing random numbers into Excel to seem busy when you hear your boss’ voice in the hall. PGP.

Weighing the price of attending a wedding against how much their friendship means to you. PGP.

Twenty-five sittin’ on 25…one dollar bills. PGP.

Sure working at Initech was soul-crushing, and Lumbergh was a douche, but at least they got Hawaiian shirt Fridays. PGP.

Writing well thought out cover letters no one will ever read. PGP.

Batteries in my mouse died. Guess it’s time to go home. PGP.

I’m not starting work until I’m done being hungover. PGP.