บท 65: 65
You drive back to your office, the cuts on your arm still throbbing under the SecondSkin as you make your way through the asphalt jungle of the city.
You push the door to your office open and you hear paper being mangled underneath it. Just a couple of days away and there's already a pile of envelopes waiting for you.
You gaze at the heap of murdered trees laying at your feet and light a cigarette. It's a wonder people still use paper. It seems so antiquated. It suits you well enough, though. Paper is so much easier to misplace.
You gather up the envelopes and dump them on your desk.
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