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Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal |
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HELL Standing at the window on a clear day, inside there is no such picture. The air conditioner is blowing hot air and management reports they called the repairman. It is their prepared response. Yesterday and the day before, this is what they told us. Meanwhile I tell the secretary upstairs that a cockroach has died on my desk. She says they have called the exterminator: another prepared response. Don't bother I tell her. It is the heat that has killed it. The line goes quiet: then she starts to laugh. Oh, I see you're making a joke, No, I'm not, I tell her, It's hell down here. BEAT it is raining sunshine shadows of slumped shoulders can be seen on the sidewalk blame the sun once again heat is cruel a tree could provide solace in a time like this but in this city they're few and far between, but there is sun and cement like a pot no oil is needed on the way to work I'm already beat |