By Jeremy Saperstein
There’s a definite warm solace to be found in the fluorescent hell of work. Once you’ve arrived for another eight-hour sentence, the rhythm of the workplace begins to nudge you like a tide, making action and reaction easy as you work through the day. Coffee at eight and ten, lunch at noon, candy bar at three. Without the routine, most of us would go insane.
The unending rhythms of the copiers relax and capture me, taking me back to the countless copier rooms and desks I’ve occupied as a worker drone in America. From now on, I hope to hear more of the music that always plays around me.