The exit sign above my head points to right Desks, chairs, laptops, cubicles more desks A labyrinth of corporate bullshit, and an exit An exit on my right. I saw an ant today. A carpenter ant. I ran my finger in circles around it My mother says I have an animal magnetism towards rage, suffering. I watch it panic, spin, searching for a way out. Both of us now victims of a game I invented to inspire passion. The exit remains. My pen that leaked through my pocket on my first day lays in front of me on my desk. The ant now a permanent accessory to the table. Stops right by my finger I show him the sign, point towards the right. We both stay. It’s day 23. My laptop shuts down, The flickering screen now dead. We’re all here. The pen, the ant, my laptop. Endless tabs of google sheets and project proposals in my inbox. We watch together. Desks, chairs, laptops, cubicles more desks A labyrinth of corporate bullshit, and an exit An exit on my right. We stay here, become passive, still. We don’t fight, invent, or yearn. We sit here, look at the exit- and hope Tomorrow, we walk towards right.