The questions don’t stop.
The incessant babbling of a panicked boss
The bone churning boredom of paint drying with the sympathetic tears that accompany a slowly dying animal.
I need a drink, rather several, rather all!
Maybe, for bonus points, we can throw in a crippling drug addiction that could, maybe, allow for a grasp on the slick walls of the pit. But we both know it won’t.

I need to escape, to get away from this horrid existence. But I don’t dare. Yellow bellied sluggard.
Thank god for cowardice, or I’d be the main course at the feast of the maggot king.