I am a cubist
They moved me from a private office to a cube. I like it. My office was a mess anyway. It was depressing in there. For years, they kept giving me paper, which I would look at and then put on a pile in my office somewhere. Then some of the piles fell over. Other piles are covering mouse-chewed cracker packets. I have to shovel all that crap out of there by April 12. Then my office will become a Consultation Room.
My cube is neat and modular. A machine for working. A machine for living. On the walls are framed black-and-white pictures that my wife took of the skyscraper across from our Rockville apartment, when we lived there. They are close-ups, grids of identical windows marching off in perspective, filling the frame. Another machine for living.
My cube is neat and modular. A machine for working. A machine for living. On the walls are framed black-and-white pictures that my wife took of the skyscraper across from our Rockville apartment, when we lived there. They are close-ups, grids of identical windows marching off in perspective, filling the frame. Another machine for living.